


The Sacred Bird

by Twigo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Fantasy, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Romance, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24943801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twigo/pseuds/Twigo
Summary: AU. Gilbert has been waging unsuccessful war against the Eastern Prince Ivan for many years. In desperation, he pleads to the gods to grant him the power to overthrow his enemy. The solution the sun goddess offers him, however, may prove too great a burden. Prince Ivan, for his part, should never have followed that trail of feathers, nor fallen for a man he couldn't keep. RusGer
Relationships: Germany/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	1. SOMNUS

**Author's Note:**

> A/N : I think when I leave this isolation and return to civilization and regain my sanity, this is probably going to be the thing that has me looking back and being all WTAF. I just don't know. 
> 
> Warnings! : AU. Human characters. Character death. Not set in any real time or countries. RusGer, with some Goddess!Belarus because I love her creepiness. This is merely a mixture of many fairytale and mythology tropes, with no focus on any particular one. The Slavic 'Firebird' tale however, offered some elements, from various versions. So, of course, with the fairytale theme in mind, beware of huge age differences in characters.

**THE SACRED BIRD**

* * *

**SOMNUS**

Gilbert's favorite moment in life was sitting down on the edge of the bed and watching Ludwig sleep.

How he had gotten to that point, however, was nothing Gilbert could happily look back upon; Ludwig, after all, had been gifted to Gilbert by wars.

Long had Gilbert's lands been at war with those lands farther to the east, and long had Gilbert's father led the charge against them. The East was ruled by a king, Ivan, and Gilbert's father was merely a nobleman that had united men and gathered up a haphazard country. Their borders were uncertain, ever shifting, and Gilbert had watched his father map out war since he had been a child.

Gilbert's father would frequently look up from his map, stare at Gilbert, and say, 'You'll be the one to take the Eastern Kingdom. I know it. You are a gift from the gods. It must be.'

That was what they had always called Gilbert, a gift, and Gilbert had grown up believing it. They considered him divine in some sense, for his appearance. Certainly no other man in these lands or the next looked as Gilbert did, with his entire lack of pigment and red-tinted eyes. He couldn't say that he felt very divine, and he certainly bled and felt pain, so Gilbert never let it get too much to his head lest he meet an untimely demise for being too foolhardy.

Gilbert played that belief to his advantage, though, and always strove to make himself appear more godly than he was. He always dressed only in white and red, and his horse was always white. He kept himself very neat, hair always trimmed and clean-shaven. His horse, as well, was always clean and groomed. Looking pristine and so white and ethereal had always worked to their advantage, and his father always gathered more men when Gilbert had rode out with him. His father had had a greatsword made for him with a hilt of ivory, spotted with red jewels, and his shields were always painted white.

An illusion, but a powerful one. To his father, the illusion was merely fact, and Gilbert let him believe what he would.

Gilbert did, however, believe that he would be the one to finish those wars.

Somehow, he had always believed _that_.

The Eastern Kingdom enslaved every land it conquered, and so Gilbert's father made war with them before they could come sweeping in and burning.

The armies tried hard to convince Gilbert's father to become king, to unite the towns and villages and create a sure country with sure borders, to settle the lands and create their own kingdom.

His father had always said, 'I fight against a king—I do not wish to be called one.'

Gilbert echoed that, years later, when his father had died and the men had tried to coax Gilbert into assuming some sort of monarchial role. He refused, and said what his father had said, and so they had tried to call him Emperor. Gilbert had denied that, and so they had called him Kaiser. He rejected it.

It was all the same, he knew it and so did they, and it was really only Gilbert's pride that kept him stubbornly refusing their titles.

His father's armies had had no title, no real name, and maybe that was what they really wanted, to feel that sort of cohesive power, so Gilbert appeased them by declaring them Knights. He was not a king, he was a knight, just a knight, and so too were his men. They accepted it, and seemed glad to at last have something to call themselves.

Gilbert _would_ admit that 'Nemesis Knights' sounded much better than merely 'those angry villagers on horseback.' Certainly a boost of confidence to the men, to consider themselves takers of revenge for the East's plundering.

It had taken much longer to get the old women in the villages to stop calling him 'highness' and 'sire'. They were stubborn, but so was Gilbert, and eventually it had taken. They just called him 'sir' or nothing at all, and that was what he preferred. He received all the ego he needed on the battlefield, and had no need of platitudes back home.

With the naming of his men, he took more control, began to organize, and steadily formed the country they had always wanted, with secure borders and unity. Banding together these towns and cities and villages and forming them into a nation. It was easier, in a way, to make war when the lines were clearly drawn. Easier to take it all in and decide where to go and how much to risk.

It didn't take long after the formation of his knights for the men in the Eastern armies to start calling Gilbert the Dread Knight. His ferocity in battle coupled with the shining white of everything upon him made for a grand impression, as did the greatsword his father had bestowed upon him. That he was left-handed helped ever more.

Dread Knight; that name he very much enjoyed, and strove to keep it by making endless war.

And not only in the East.

Gilbert had set out to rule the world entire, and the only obstacle in his path was the inevitable ascension of Prince Ivan. The Prince and the King of the East shared a name, but were very different. Prince Ivan was where Gilbert's focus lied, and in his shadow the King was inconsequential. Far more clever than his father, the Prince, far more brutal, far more tenacious, and far more eager to make war. Fearless and very willing to sacrifice his own men for victory. Brilliant in his strategies. He owned so many lands and so many men that his armies were always superior.

Gilbert learned as much about his enemy as he could, studying him and forming his analysis up in his head. Had seen scrolls of him, statues when he went far enough East. It was difficult of course to determine reality from vanity, because Gilbert had seen the effigies of himself, but from what he gathered the young Prince was very tall, very broad, large and imposing, handsome enough in his own right, with blond hair that covered his forehead and grey eyes. A wide chin and round cheeks, nose prominent and rather hawkish. In the statues he always stood tall, sword in hand and shield over his back, and in the paintings and drawings he often was overdressed, crown on his head and robes flowing far behind him, and rather than a sword he held a scepter. His horse was as overgrown as he was, it seemed, one of those great workhorses, made for heavy labor rather than war. Pure black, to Gilbert's white steed.

How fitting.

At the retreat of one campaign, Gilbert had reached out his arm and snatched down a small tapestry while passing through a village, recognizing the Prince from his extravagant garb. He took it home, and studied it, committing that man to memory so he would know him at a glance.

Gilbert's father had fought against a King, and Gilbert now fought against a Prince.

With the Prince now leading the armies, as the King apparently gave him command, Gilbert had been pushed back time and time again, every campaign falling short at the very last charge.

Every time, Gilbert suffered defeat, no matter how hard he pushed and how prepared they had come. Couldn't overcome Ivan, couldn't outwit him, couldn't breach his walls and defenses, couldn't take his lands.

Prince Ivan was Gilbert's bane.

Wanted that man dead, and was willing to do anything to make it so. Both of them fought at the head of their armies, and yet somehow in all these years they had never once come face to face on the field, and Gilbert regretted that above all else. He would have gladly laid down his life for the chance to claim Ivan's before he fell.

Could never defeat him.

So many years fighting, and so many years failing.

On Gilbert's twenty-sixth year on the Earth, he found himself coming back home in defeat yet again, bloody and angry and so frustrated, and that was when he had reached the river outside of his town that was said to water the gods.

Gilbert fell to his knees before it, clasped his hands, and prayed to them, for the first time.

He got closer and closer to the kingdom each time, every battle brought him nearer, but he just couldn't break past that final front, couldn't get by, couldn't win when faced with the full might of the East, and he knew he needed help.

So he knelt there, and beseeched, to the river, "Gods! I pray, grant me the power to overcome the Prince! I make war endlessly for naught. I need the assistance of the gods to overthrow the tyrant. Please! I offer up anything the gods would ask of me."

He didn't know what he truly expected, but he knew that he had never expected for everything to fall utterly silent and misty. He raised his head to see river still rushing along, but he couldn't hear it. Heard nothing at all. The colors around him had all bled out, as if night had come and yet not fully. The edges of the horizon were pitch black all around him. The blue sky was grey.

Upon the river then there were glimmers of gold, the only color in that misty plane, and Gilbert pulled himself to his feet in a fright, staring at the water and taking a step back.

Ripples on the water suddenly, as raindrops fell atop it. Could hear those drops hitting the river, and only that sound permeated the ether. Only it wasn't water that fell, rather than more gold, and when he glanced up at the sky he saw _her_ , floating down.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, long robes flowing about in gold and white, and he knew at a glance that she was the goddess of the sun; the disk of the sun itself sat there behind her hair above her crown. Golden hair and blue eyes, the sun and sky together, and her long hair flowed at her sides weightlessly. Her elegant hands were clasped before her, her face devoid of all discernable emotion. A very statue, indeed. Her robes shimmered as much as her hair, and she fell still there atop the river, hovering just above the water.

The ripples beneath her stretched out to either side of the river.

Her eyes fell upon him then, and he shuddered.

She was terrifying in her beauty, too much for him to entirely comprehend, and he fell to one knee, staring at her unblinkingly and scarcely breathing.

When she spoke to him, her voice was soothing, lovely, rippling and wavering as much as her hair was about her, and although he had never heard that language he somehow understood it perfectly.

"What would the Dread Knight ask of the gods? Never have I heard your prayers until this day. Your men pray always, thanking us for you, but silent were you before this moment."

He was too dumbfounded yet to speak, gaping at her as he was.

Wasn't sure if this was real or not, if he was dreaming, or if perhaps he had fallen in battle and found himself lost on the way to the underworld.

She laughed, held her hands out at her sides, and said, "I am real. Stand, Knight."

Ah—

He stood, but was yet silent, and she drifted towards him, so gracefully, and she tried, "You ask for the power to unseat the Eastern Prince. Is this not so?"

Gilbert looked up at her, as the disk of the sun behind her hair lit it up platinum, and he came to alertness and said, breathlessly, "Yes."

"At whatever cost? Is your own life forfeit? Do you so desire victory that you would risk even yourself? The power to take the life of a prince requires a life in turn."

Transfixed by her, Gilbert didn't hesitate, didn't flinch, held himself steady, and answered, "At whatever cost. To rid the land of the Prince—that is worth my life. It would be my grandest victory."

She stared straight through his eyes, judging his sincerity.

Her hand floated to her mouth as she giggled a bit, so softly, and her voice was beyond derisive when she murmured, "A tyrant, you called him. It's humorous, for when the Prince prays he invokes that very word against _you_. Men are so foolish. A king to one is a tyrant to another. Alas, it is unavoidable, for we made you that way. How we love you, despite your many flaws. Mankind is endearing in its futility. Very well, then. I shall grant you what you seek."

Gilbert inhaled, bristling in anticipation and veins flooding with heat. The thrill of victory, rushing up.

To think, all those years fighting, and all he had had to do was kneel and pray for the help of the gods!

Her hands raised above her head, the disk of the sun behind her hair glowed, drops of gold fell once more all around her, and Gilbert held his breath as she conjured up her gift.

But what she presented him with then was the _last_ thing he had ever expected.

She held out to him then not a sword, nor a shield, nor a bow. Not a weapon at all, nor any object that would have aided him in war. Not even some tome, no scroll that could have withheld knowledge. Nothing of the sort.

She held out a baby, swaddled in gold and sleeping.

Gilbert gasped a bit, from the sheer absurdity, and met her endless eyes.

"A child?" he asked, incredulously, entirely confused.

She nodded her head once, very seriously, and Gilbert turned his eyes back down.

"This child will help me overthrow the Prince?"

"Indeed he shall. Be warned; this power will give you great joy, and then cause you unbearable pain. The Prince, however, will fall. Think carefully before you choose."

She held the infant out, so tenderly, and Gilbert stared at it transfixed.

Her warning rang heavy in his ears, but he was confident. Resolute. Nothing mattered more to him than ending that Prince, even falling himself in the process. To see the end of that kingdom, of that line—that was worth more to him than anything he knew upon this Earth.

He inhaled, and reached out his arms.

She smiled, terribly, and he shuddered at her look when he took the infant into his hands.

She glided back, gazing down at him, as he stared at the bundle in his arms in mild shock. Was this truly the way, or was she merely toying with a mortal? So impossible to say, but there was no choice but to trust.

He regained his senses then, held the child to his chest, and said, lowly, "Forgive me— I have no children, nor siblings. I don't know how to care for a baby. I know no nursing mothers."

Her frightening smile was as fixed as her gaze, and she merely waved her hand in the air.

Before him on the ground appeared a drinking horn.

She inclined her head, and uttered, "Fear not; it will always be full when you need it. It will come to you rather quickly. Your kind have done this for ages."

She drifted farther back, meaning to leave no doubt, and Gilbert called, at the last second, "What is his name?"

She faded, voice sweet and chilling.

"You could never pronounce it. Name him what you will. The gods will honor it. He is yours now."

She was gone, and so was her voice.

The mist faded, and the rush of the river came back. Darkness faded and clarity returned. Colors, bright and vivid. As if she had never been there at all, and Gilbert would have thought that perhaps he had had a fever dream had it not been for the infant clutched to his chest.

He knelt down, grabbed the horn and placed it within his belt, mounted his horse, and rode rather dazedly back into town. He glanced down very frequently at the sleeping child, mind heavy and momentarily overwhelmed. When he reached the village, they greeted him as vociferously as always, but turned curious when they saw what he carried in his arms.

He dismounted, looked around, and finally said, at the quick questions, "I found him abandoned along the way."

What could he say? Could never have said the sun goddess had come down before him—they would think the war had at long last broken his mind and would have no longer followed him. And should they have believed him, then perhaps that was worse; did he truly want to raise this child in knowledge that he was divine, knowing what task lay ahead?

No.

Several women came forward, pleading to be gifted the child. He walked past them all, went into his home, and sat down upon his bed.

So tired suddenly.

He fell back, held the gift upon his chest, and said, to the sleeping infant, "I'll call you Ludwig. After my father. He was far more noble than the princes to the East. It will suit you."

He fell asleep shortly after, and had no dreams.

Ludwig.

The goddess was right; it did come to him, very quickly, and Gilbert found that raising a child was rather rewarding, despite the difficulties. Besides, he always had the women to fall back on, when he needed advice or assistance. Took his mind off of war, the child. Something to look forward to. A pastime, as it was. And a calm one, for the baby rarely cried and passed most of his time sleeping. When he was awake, he usually lied placidly still in Gilbert's arms, staring up at Gilbert and grasping his finger. Gilbert contemplated him, silently. Seemed like such a normal infant.

Months passed, and Gilbert took note of Ludwig's pale hair and blue eyes. A vision of the very goddess that had brought him down. Those eyes were the same color as the sky that held his mother, and Gilbert found himself smiling for the first time in so many years.

Couldn't yet see how this child would fell the Prince, but held fervently to that hope.

A year passed.

Ludwig grew quite beautiful, more and more like the sun, and when Gilbert swaddled him up and carried him on his back the women in the village would always flock over to coo at him. Ludwig was a foreigner, as far as they knew, and it was easier for Gilbert to merely think he _had_ come from those Eastern lands when he looked so heavenly. Nothing at all abnormal about Ludwig, and Gilbert saw him as less divine each day.

Gilbert acted the role of father, and yet somehow in his heart he called Ludwig his little brother. He didn't know how to be a father, and being a brother seemed easier. Less pressure, and, in the end, it seemed to Gilbert that thinking of Ludwig as 'brother' rather than 'son' would make everything easier when the time came, although the manner of that was still a mystery. Did not yet know if this child was the sacrifice or the one who would sacrifice Gilbert.

Best to stay rather distant, either way.

She had warned, after all, that a life would be taken, though she had been vague as to whose.

Gilbert knelt down with his men in the light of a fire at night, Ludwig asleep against his back, and always plotted his next assault on the East. He grew closer and closer each time, came closer to breaching the kingdom, and was ever confident. They may have suffered defeat on each occasion, but it was not without advances.

He was arrogant now more than ever, with this apparent gift there upon his back. The men, oblivious, perhaps found Gilbert's affinity for a foreign child strange. They laughed and joked about it, declaring that one day Gilbert would just ride out to war with that child still strapped there upon his back.

Perhaps.

They teasingly called Ludwig 'the Dreadling'.

One day, when Ludwig was finally walking just a little, Gilbert had led him carefully along through the village on a quick adventure. An old woman had scrutinized Ludwig, and asked, "How do we know where his loyalties will lie when he is older, sir? Perhaps he is the dog born to the wolf. One day he may heed his Prince's call."

Several men stopped to watch, as Gilbert clung to little Ludwig's hand, and he felt no anger then because of course they didn't know.

So Gilbert just lifted his chin and smiled, confidently, and replied, "I think of him rather as the wolf that I may one day send back out amongst the sheep."

How confident they were in where this 'Eastern' child's allegiances would lie when he was grown was of no matter to Gilbert, and they had no choice but to accept it as it was. Ludwig was indeed the wolf, though his purpose was yet hidden. Maybe it would be that way; maybe Gilbert would one day send Ludwig into that kingdom, and Ludwig, with the silky persuasions borne of his mother, would strike Ivan down, taking either himself or Gilbert down in the process.

When Ludwig was four, Gilbert left on his first campaign since he had been gifted the child. Shockingly to the men, Gilbert did not ride into battle with Ludwig strapped to his back, and instead left him in the care of the women, who were so happy and willing to have a child to care for in absence of their own, grown and away.

Somehow...

It was strange, but the entire months that Gilbert fought, he always fretted in the back of his mind about Ludwig. How he was, if he was happy, if he was crying for Gilbert, if the women were treating him well.

It should have been himself he worried more about, in the face of war, but his mind was ever on Ludwig, and when defeat inevitably came and Gilbert's men limped back home, he felt excited. Arriving in the village, Gilbert leapt off of his horse and went straight to Ludwig, who writhed in a woman's arms until she set him down. Ludwig ran to him and clung to his leg, and that was when Gilbert had first looked at Ludwig and rather forgot that Ludwig wasn't truly his little brother.

The happiness he felt that day on returning to Ludwig after an absence was profound.

He slept at night with Ludwig burrowing away in his chest, and with every day that passed the motives and objectives began to shift.

He raised Ludwig then because he loved him, and not because he was the means to an end.

Ludwig grew.

Gilbert was happy and confident, content with how things were moving both in his wars and his own life. The people saw, and remarked frequently how much younger Gilbert looked these days, always smiling as he was.

Ludwig just slept beside of him every night, and asked Gilbert for nothing. Unconditional love.

Gilbert always watched him sleep.

Dawn broke. The dark orange on the horizon, hanging just above the mountains, mingled with the black-blue of the heavens.

Gilbert sat on the hill behind his home, the grass cool beneath him, as he drew his sword from his sheath and studied it thoughtfully. It glinted in the pink light steadily overtaking the dull orange, and he set it between his knees and took up a cloth, wiping it down as he did every morning.

A sound behind him, and then arms around his neck.

Ludwig, waking up at Gilbert's absence and running out after him, as he always did. Gilbert twisted his head, Ludwig pushed his cheek into Gilbert's, Gilbert kissed him and set back to work, and Ludwig quietly watched him clean his sword. His morning routine now, and he loved it. Having Ludwig there with him seemed to make every mundane task far more appealing.

Gilbert had long since failed in his attempt to remain distant, and there was no longer any hesitation in his heart when he called Ludwig brother. They were brothers now; it was effortless and doubtless.

The goddess' warning had vanished from his ears.

He had been foolish.

When Ludwig was six, the goddess came to Gilbert once more, as he took his horse to the river to drink.

By then, Gilbert had honestly forgotten the task that lay ahead, because he stopped thinking of Ludwig as a divine answer to his prayers. Had forgotten that Ludwig had a role to play. Hadn't considered that prophecy in so long, and maybe in some part of him he had hoped it would just rather fade away and be forgotten.

He loved Ludwig, more than anything, and that love clouded his mind.

When she appeared to him that day, on the opposite bank of the river, Gilbert had jumped in fright, and the terror he felt had been unrivaled, something he had never experienced. She just stood there, hands clasped before her and long hair flowing at her sides as much as the river did beneath her.

He would have turned and fled, but was paralyzed.

She smiled at him, that terrible smile that was impossibly frightening, and said, softly, "He is growing well, is he not? You have hidden from him his origin."

The horse was nervous at his side, snorting and restless, as Gilbert stood there ever immobile.

She lifted her brow, and her smile was quite knowing.

"You love him very much. I did warn you, did I not? No matter—as you have neglected to tell him that he was borne of the sun, I have come to him in sleep many times. He knows, although he does not yet comprehend entirely, child that he is. He understands that he is different than you, and that is all. I have not yet told him his fate, but you wonder always, do you not? Have you forgotten? I offered him to you, with the price of a life. You knew all along, in your heart, that it would be his. But, oh! How he loves you."

An awful pang of hurt, sadness, and Gilbert at last took a step forward, bowed his head, and beseeched, "Please! Tell me some other way. I will break past the Prince's defenses some other way. I wish now to just let him live his life here with no worry."

She was utterly impassive to his pleas, and lifted her hands beside of her, so slightly.

"It cannot be. You accepted the offer, and nothing can change it. I merely came to see how much you loved him in turn, when in sleep he speaks to me only of you. I am satisfied."

With that, she was gone, leaving Gilbert stranded there on that shore, miserable and helpless.

He darted back to the village as quick as he could, to see Ludwig watching an old woman weaving a tapestry with awe. Gilbert stood back, and just stared at him, as the old woman spoke to Ludwig and Ludwig tried to help her, handing her spools when she requested them.

Oh, how hard Gilbert worked then not to cry.

He had known the price when he had accepted, had been warned and had been prepared to do whatever it took, but, oh god—!

This pain truly was unbearable, and every day it wore on him more and more, as he began to regret his decision. Having doubts and second-thoughts, questioning both himself and his resolve. Ludwig _had_ brought him great joy, beyond fathom, and suddenly fulfilling this path he had chosen was overwhelming and incomprehensible.

He was prepared to throw himself to his knees once more and beg the goddess for mercy, for a different way, anything at all. If she would but let Gilbert take Ludwig's place. Suddenly, the life of the Prince was no longer worth it.

It had been tolerable when he had fooled himself into thinking that Gilbert himself would be the one to fall, but knowing now for certain that it was Ludwig's life that was forfeit was far too much to bear. She was right; he had always known deep down, but had pretended. No longer had the luxury, as finality stared him in the face.

That wasn't fair.

Ludwig had been created only to be sacrificed. That wasn't _fair_ , and Gilbert refused to accept it.

When Ludwig slept that night, Gilbert sat there beside of him and ran fingers through his pale hair, wondering what Ludwig and the goddess were speaking of then in that very moment.

He tried with all of his might to remain composed, and failed, eyes ever watering.

A tear fell down and hit Ludwig's cheek. In his slumber, he reached up and rubbed at it, never waking, and Gilbert collapsed shortly after, bowing his head and clamping his jaw shut and bursting into silent tears.

Didn't want this anymore.

The price was too high.

Ludwig was oblivious, and never once questioned Gilbert about how he was 'different'.

Gilbert's vigil of sleeping Ludwig had become mournful.

Ludwig was ten when the goddess showed herself to him for the first time outside of dreams.

Gilbert was gone to war again, once more encroaching closer and closer and once more cast out. A long six months gone, and thinking the entire while of only Ludwig. Ludwig had become motivation, his reason for surviving another day to return home. Before, he had sworn he wouldn't die until the Prince did, and now he swore he wouldn't die so that he could go home and see Ludwig waiting for him.

Ludwig always did wait.

When Gilbert returned home from that campaign, bloody and exhausted and spent, the first thing he saw, as always, was Ludwig sprinting to him through the field, lit up as bright as the sun.

Gilbert summoned up a smile for him, in spite of it all, and fell off of his horse more than he dismounted, but he didn't have a chance to pull himself up off of his backside before Ludwig was atop him. Arms around his neck, and a face burrowing under his chin.

He returned home defeated each time, and yet Ludwig always greeted him as a hero.

A burst of light made him squint. A glint in the sun.

He glanced up above Ludwig's head, and saw a beautiful bird, gliding forward and fluttering down to the ground before them. Had never seen such a bird, and it was instantly mesmerizing. The size of an eagle, yet elegant. Looked a bit like a peacock in its neck and head, yet it was clearly something else entirely. Its feathers seemed to change color as he looked at them, silver and gold and green, never still and always shimmering. The tail feathers were very long, as long as Ludwig was tall, dragging back far behind it. A black beak. Golden eyes. It seemed to create its own light, glinting every time it moved, as if it had taken the very electricity from a thundercloud.

Gilbert stared at it in awe, as it drew its legs beneath it and settled there upon the ground.

Couldn't breathe.

Ludwig pulled back and looked up then, and Gilbert could see how tired he looked, as if he hadn't slept in days. Drained and exhausted, as much as Gilbert, but still beaming.

"Gilbert!" Ludwig exclaimed, ever clinging to his neck, "You won't believe me when I tell you!"

"What?" Gilbert asked, eyes torn between Ludwig and that impossible bird.

Sometimes, Gilbert forgot that Ludwig was really just as impossible as that bird. Had stopped viewing Ludwig as ethereal, and that obviously divine bird rather abruptly brought Gilbert back to the reality of Ludwig.

Ludwig sat up straight in Gilbert's lap, hands on his chest for balance, and declared, so eagerly, "I went to the river to pray for you, and the sun goddess came to me."

An awful jolt of fear, panic, terror, and above all else hurt. His eyes watered, he swallowed compulsively, as the awful urge to cry right there came up. What did she want with him? Why had she come? It was too soon. Couldn't yet be time, not yet, not now. Wouldn't let it happen. Gilbert had changed his mind.

He grabbed Ludwig by the shoulders, gave him a shake, and asked, urgently, "What did she say to you? What did she tell you?"

Ludwig was oblivious to his panic, smiling as he was, and seemed so happy.

"She came to me, and offered me this bird. She said she will guide you home. That, however far you go, you'll never be lost. She said to tell you to march farther in your campaigns, to the lands in the South, and not to fear about losing your way. Here—"

Ludwig reached into his shirt, pulled out a shimmering feather, and placed it into Gilbert's breast pocket.

"Keep this with you, always, and wherever you are the bird will find you and leave a trail of feathers for you to follow home. How happy I am! Knowing that you won't ever get lost."

Ludwig's smile was beautiful, and Gilbert felt rather ill, despite the astounding bird staring at him from behind Ludwig.

He reached up, placing his palm over that feather, as Ludwig grabbed his other hand and pulled him to his feet. The bird flapped its wings and drifted up, settling happily into Ludwig's arms as Ludwig smiled ever up at Gilbert.

Ludwig ran a finger over the bird's head, and added, in a whisper, "She also said that, should I ever find myself far from home, that the bird will in turn lead you to me. I disliked that. Thinking about being far away."

Gilbert reached out, tussled Ludwig's hair, and assured, "You'll never be far from home."

Ludwig was quiet, pensive, and Gilbert glanced frequently at him as they walked home, that bird held there in his arms.

Gilbert finally summoned his courage, and asked, "Was that _all_ she said, Ludwig?"

Ludwig looked over at him, and his smile was soft. Muted, in a way. He didn't answer Gilbert, merely smiling at him in that manner for a while, the bird fluttering out of his arms to perch instead atop his shoulder. When they were home, Ludwig was quick to dart away and make himself busy with chores.

Gilbert watched him go, and felt dread.

That night, when Ludwig was sleeping there beside of him, Gilbert leaned over, kissed his cheek, and snuck out.

He went to the river, stood before the water, and called, to the air, "Show yourself!"

She did, lighting up the night around her with the golden disk of sun always behind the crown of her hair. The water glinted with gold as she drifted forward, smiling, and she seemed amused when she crooned, "Yes, Dread Knight? What now do you ask of me?"

Gilbert wasted no time.

He dropped to his knees, clasped his hands together, and fell forward, farther and farther, until his forehead pressed into the dirt.

"Please," he begged, in a trembling whisper that was more of a sob, "Please. I was wrong. I made a mistake. The price is too high. I can't do it. I'll— I no longer desire the power to fell the Prince. Please. If you ask it of me, I will take his place. Let me take his place. If nothing else, nothing, then let him choose. Let him choose his own path, but, oh, please, don't force this upon me."

He was crying long before he finished speaking, and she was impassive.

Oh, how foolish he had been, to so easily accept her gift.

The silence then was unbearable, as he pressed his forehead into the dirt and cried.

Ludwig had been borne from the sun, and had long since become Gilbert's sun. Couldn't fathom the world without him.

Hands suddenly upon his face, cool and smooth and soft, and she lifted him upright without ever once exerting any sort of pressure upon him, until he sat once more on his knees. He stared at her through wide eyes, vision blurry with tears, and she smiled at him as she knelt there before him.

Her thumbs ran over his cheeks, wiping the tears from them, and she was beautiful when her smile softened and her eyes lidded. A search of his face, and then at long last she spoke.

"I came to him because I saw your pain. I felt pity for you, because you grew to love him so, far more than even I had foreseen. For that, I gave him a choice, as you desire."

Couldn't breathe then, hanging there on her words and feeling devastated and yet hopeful.

"I offered to him the sacred bird, and showed him his fate if he were to accept it. I showed him, too, what would come to pass should he refuse. He saw both possible outcomes, two different roads and two different deaths, and he made his decision. He accepted his fate, to spare you yours. Does that comfort you?"

Gilbert burst once more into tears, as she ever held his face, and moaned, " _No_. He's a _child_ , he doesn't know what he says!"

" _My_ child," she murmured, serenely. "He is no fool. He accepted his destiny without fear, and without doubt, because he loves you. Take comfort in that."

She released his face, leaned forward to kiss his forehead, and then she was gone.

Gilbert hit the dirt again, pressing his head there and crying until he was too exhausted to continue. Hours and hours he had been there, crying, before he ambled back to his village in a daze, feeling as if the very ground beneath him were breaking apart. The sky was falling, surely, for the way he felt.

Ludwig slept still when Gilbert crawled back into bed, and Gilbert clenched him to his chest, buried his face in Ludwig's hair, and silently mourned.

In the morning, instead of tending his sword, Gilbert lied there and stared at Ludwig until he awoke, hand running over Ludwig's cheek.

When Ludwig stirred, Gilbert tried to carry on as normally, but just couldn't.

Needed to know.

That evening, when Ludwig sat down with the shimmering bird and murmured to it, Gilbert found his resolve and walked up to him, stood above him and said, sternly, "Tell me what she told you. I know you made a choice. She told me you accepted it. What did she tell you?"

A fall of Ludwig's face, and he looked away.

Gilbert would have none of it, and raised his voice.

"Tell me now! That's an order, child."

He had never shouted at Ludwig, had never chided him, because Ludwig had never given him reason to, and Ludwig looked startled at the sound of Gilbert's brash voice.

At last, Ludwig said, as he held the bird there in his lap, "She said that...one day, I would need to make a trail for you, as I will be taken far away. That I must leave feathers from the bird's wings for you to follow. And then, I must pluck the tail feathers when all else are gone."

Ludwig's eyes fell to the bird, his look turned dark, and Gilbert pressed him urgently, grabbing his shoulders and hissing, "What? And then what? What did she say?"

Ludwig glanced back up at him, those pretty eyes catching Gilbert as always, and his voice was yet softer when he spoke again.

"Fifteen tail feathers. When I pluck the last one, the bird will die. Fifteen days later, so too will I."

Oh, how his heart broke then, as he clenched Ludwig's shoulders. Had made such a mistake, had been so proud and foolish, and he fell now to his knees before Ludwig, hands taking Ludwig's within his own. It couldn't be, wouldn't, and he wouldn't let it come to pass.

"It will never happen. You hear? I won't let it. Don't worry. I'm here to keep you safe. It will never happen. It was just a warning, that was all, not a prediction. Understand? You're not going anywhere."

Ludwig seemed a bit reassured, smiling a little, and Gilbert wished that he could feel reassured as well.

It was Ludwig then who pressed forward and kissed his forehead. Gilbert squinted his eyes shut, and fought off the desire to collapse.

He couldn't sleep that night, watching Ludwig under the moonlight and feeling so devastated. Knowing that, as Ludwig slept that very moment, the goddess was very likely speaking to him. His eyes moved restlessly behind his eyelids, dreaming away.

How powerless he felt. Ludwig's fate had been presented to him, and he had accepted it, fearlessly, as Gilbert pleaded and cried to merciless gods.

He could do nothing but encourage Ludwig, to deny the fate, to claim it was merely a possibility even though he knew otherwise. He did not do it for Ludwig's sake, but rather his own, because the thought of losing what he loved more than anything was too painful to comprehend, to grasp, and he refused to accept it outright.

Ludwig never faltered.

Gilbert could only watch in despair as Ludwig grew up slowly before his eyes, becoming tall and broad and so handsome, the very image of a god, and with each day that passed Gilbert knew the end came ever closer. To see Ludwig standing there in the pale light of dawn, the rising orange sun setting his hair ablaze and lighting his pale eyes up golden, the shimmering bird there upon his shoulder, its grand tail feathers brushing the ground below...

Gilbert took him in, drank in the sight of him, knowing that each day could be the last. That was the worst of it all, perhaps, that waiting.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, Ludwig was sixteen. How time had raced. Far too quickly for Gilbert's taste, never knowing when the wheel would begin to turn.

Ludwig was beautiful, more beautiful than even the holy bird, and Gilbert could do nothing to save him. Helpless, standing there and waiting for the day the gods would act. Unable to change Ludwig's fate.

And so, Gilbert sat there every night and watched Ludwig sleep.


	2. THREE HEARTS

**THREE HEARTS**

It had all started when Ivan had found that iridescent feather upon the ground.

Well; perhaps it had started a bit before that, when he had been walking along the very edge of the city to clear his mind. It never worked; his hectic mind was always whirring, never resting, always pondering, thinking, fretting, wondering.

The assault on his lands were endless, and of course there was one great culprit behind it.

The Dread Knight! How ridiculous. He would never conquer these lands.

Twenty-five years Ivan had fought that man, and twenty-five years he had forced him back. He stood now upon his fortieth year, and had never lost a battle. Had been only fifteen the first time he had commanded that army, and hadn't looked back.

They had both taken over their father's wars.

The King was not yet dead, but was always ill now, and wouldn't last much longer. Ivan was already effectively acting as king, and had been for as many years as he had been fighting. His father's death would change nothing at all in his kingdom except for Ivan's title.

So, Ivan merely waited always for the Dread Knight's inevitable return, as he came every few years.

Ivan had yet to come face to face with the man of exaggerated legend. Had faced his men countless times head on, but hadn't yet been fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time to find the white demon. Had always looked so forward to it, eager as he was to strike him down, but so far he was elusive.

So many stories, so many myths, so many ludicrous tales.

The so called Nemesis Knights were a thorn in his side, no doubt, but without Gilbert they were harmless, so Ivan sought endlessly to cut off the head but had been ever unsuccessful. Pathetic. Men with a false nation, a ragtag band of mutts and peasants, united under a man that had crafted a false legend around himself.

Divine? Hardly.

There was nothing godly at all about that man, nothing celestial. Merely a man with an over-inflated ego and sense of entitlement. A man who sought to conquer the Earth entire and who was impeded by Ivan and seemed to be taking it so personally.

Not that Ivan wasn't guilty of those same things, of course. He was self-aware enough to know that he held many of those very qualities. He too desired to conquer as far and wide as he could, was entitled and arrogant, but at least Ivan had the decency of not pretending to be anything more than that. Never would he have the gall to stand before men and proclaim himself something otherworldly. The humiliation of such hubris would have haunted him for eternity.

Ivan was just a man who liked power, and he had no qualms saying that aloud. Would never twist it and turn it into some sort of false crusade.

Perhaps that was why he detested Gilbert so. The very notion of him was offensive.

That was the difference, as far as Ivan was concerned, between a king and a tyrant; one acknowledged his mortality as the other espoused his divinity.

Ivan lied often at night upon his couch, atop a fur blanket, holding a foreign parchment above his face and grimacing away. An embellished painting. A broad, powerful man, white as snow atop an equally white horse, clad in crimson and ivory robes, greatsword in both hands as he charged, white shield upon his back, eyes red as his clothes and hair silvery-blond. Sharp, distinguished cheeks and a sharp nose, rather regal in his face if not in his name. He never saw any effigies of Gilbert that were not him charging into battle, because that was all Gilbert had to his name. Knew nothing else. Had no grand line behind him, wasn't true royalty, had no dignity and no diplomacy. Just a commoner who had been a bit more intelligent than the rabble around him and had used that to his advantage. Gilbert would never be found on a tapestry dressed in royal raiment, for he had none, as he had no true kingdom and no title.

Ha! Divine, indeed!

Perhaps in the underworld Gilbert could find true divinity, and the underworld was exactly where Ivan was determined to send him. One way or another.

It was a minor obsession, he would admit.

He had been so focused on destroying the Knight, so intent, that he had given up his own life in a sense. Had never married in all these years, and had never truly even given himself the chance to fall in love with anyone. To rest. To see the world outside of battle. War was constantly on his mind.

His sister goaded him relentlessly, always in his ear, always nagging him, always trailing behind him with her long list of suitors. Princesses and princes, duchesses and dukes, lords and ladies, every kind of nobility and royalty possible, all seeking matrimony and therefore trade and allegiance. Peace, a shield in a sense, offering partnership to his kingdom before he eventually conquered them by force.

He ignored them all, far too absorbed with Gilbert.

By now, he had accepted that it would never happen. It seemed as if his entire fate revolved around merely eliminating Gilbert, and he had made peace with that. He would succeed when his father died, he would remain forever alone, and then when he died the throne would pass to his sister, assuming she still lived, and had she not then her children, assuming she ever had any. If not, then...

Well. Not his job to figure out, as he would be mercifully dead.

For her part, his sister was quite determined that it wouldn't be that way, and always tried her hand at him.

He had other things to worry about than marriage; it was that time again, after all, and Gilbert was on the warpath. Had started his newest campaign five months ago, and had attacked four separate times, in four separate locations. It did seem, these past few years, that Gilbert had grown bolder and was traversing ever farther around the border, farther south, trying to loop around perhaps and catch them unawares. Had never assaulted them from that distance in the twenty years prior, had never strayed too far from his homeland.

Had grown _far_ bolder.

Irina was oblivious to Ivan's fretting, as usual.

She had chased him that fateful day, parchment in hand and babbling away as he tried to flee from her.

"Ivan! Oh, this one sounds so nice! A grand Fürst! I don't even know what that is, but it sounds lovely, doesn't it! He's sent _many_ inquiries—"

Ivan sighed, ducking around the corner and evading her, but she couldn't be shaken loose and tailed him yet.

"—oh, and then of course there's the Duchess from the south, she is very pretty, I hear, or—"

Where was Gilbert now, he wondered? It had been three weeks since his last attack. Couldn't be too far. Was nursing his wounds and regrouping. Farther south yet? At this rate, Gilbert would one day charge at him from the east, having gone entirely around his kingdom where his defenses were weakest.

"Ivan! Are you listening?"

"No," he immediately replied, as he stopped walking suddenly and she crashed into his back.

A noise of frustration, and as she fussed at him, the pressure got to him, and it was time to flee for a good walk. He whirled around, placed his hands on her shoulders, and said, softly, "Irina. Summon the grand Fürst then, if you please."

Her brow shot up, her eyes crinkled with her smile, and her voice was thin and high when she breathed, "Truly?"

"Yes," Ivan replied, lifting his hand to pat her cheek. He took a step back from her, and added, as he crept backwards, "And when he arrives, _you_ can marry him."

He turned on his heel and bolted down the stairs as fast as he could, knowing that she was far too heavy to keep up with him for long. He could hear her shrieking at him from above, and he smiled to himself as he escaped the palace and made his way to the stables.

He took his great black horse, and began walking to the gate.

The stone streets were left behind for grass.

He fled the city when he was overwhelmed and stressed, and took to walking along the fields of wheat far in the distance. Enjoyed the solitude and the quiet, with only his horse at his side. The horse certainly never nagged him to marry, nor did the horse ever attempt to declare holy war upon him. Or, at the very least, could certainly never express it aloud.

When they were far from the city, the walls a mere blur on the horizon, Ivan turned to his old horse, and muttered, lowly, "What do _you_ think? A grand Fürst or a Duchess? What is your recommendation, eh, Morok? Perhaps I should stay within the kingdom. My grandfather's grandfather married his sister. I shall pass on that, lest she truly nag me for eternity. Maybe I should send invitations out and hold a grand conference with all of the suitors at once and pick one at random. Who shall I marry? No one at all? Do you think I'll _ever_ marry? Hm? Ah! Forget marriage. I have more important matters. I ask you : shall I ever find that blasted Dread Knight?"

No response.

As usual.

Or not from the horse, that was, because a second later a rather silky whisper came gliding to him over the wind, eliciting a shiver before he had even comprehended it.

"You shall, if you follow me."

He turned his head, and first saw _her_.

A woman in the field.

She was mesmerizing, utterly stunning, the most surreal and beautiful thing he had ever seen, and yet somehow so instantly _terrifying_. Could never have placed that shudder than ran up his back at the sight of her, as she stood there utterly still within the swaying wheat.

Glints of sunlight in her hair.

She stared at him, as if right through him in a way, and then she stretched out her hand and beckoned him forward.

Why he walked to her, he could never have explained, given how mercilessly frightened he was of her. He was impeded momentarily when the horse fell still, refusing to budge. Ivan let him loose, and took another step towards that terrifying woman. One more, and then another, as she stared fixedly at him and twitched not a muscle.

After a bit, the horse began to follow him, but at a great distance and very hesitantly.

With every step closer to her, he could see her better, and every hair on his body stood up in a fright. Hypnotically horrifying. Her blue eyes were unblinking, endless, a great void with no emotion. Her white robes were shimmering golden in the sunlight. Could swear that her long hair was glinting of its own accord rather than from the sun.

He couldn't even find his voice to speak to her as he approached.

Suddenly, he glanced back towards his horse, restless far behind, perhaps for encouragement, and when he turned back around she was yet again far in the distance. As if she had just blinked out of existence and materialized where she wanted.

That awful fear clenched his chest, and his first sensible thought was that she was a siren, drawing him ever farther out, likely to doom.

And yet he followed her still, when she beckoned to him again, because he was confident in himself and also rather mesmerized. He pushed through the wheat, his horse begrudgingly following behind, and when he came close to her yet again she once more vanished, appearing farther out in the horizon.

By then, he knew well he should have turned back, but he was far too stubborn to do so, and had rather made it a point then to reach that woman if only to prove that he could. His arrogance would be his downfall one day, no doubt, but he pursued her regardless.

And then, on the fourth round of him following her, he came closer and closer, and she had yet to vanish. She stood there, staring straight through him as he approached, and he felt the tingle of anticipation and victory creeping up.

So close.

They were suddenly within arm's reach of each other, and she smiled at him then.

It was as instantly terrifying as she was.

He took a brave step forward, outstretched his arm, but when he tried to grab hers she was suddenly gone again, vanished as if into the air itself. Frustration rose up, and he cursed, looking about for her. He didn't see her this time, nowhere around at all. She had left him. An absolute waste of time, he realized, and that was when a glint in the light had caught Ivan's eye. He glanced down, and felt strangely awed. There, where she had stood, was a feather, unlike any he had ever seen.

He knelt down, picked it up, and studied it.

Was this his prize?

He turned the feather in his hand, this way and that, and it shimmered with colors Ivan had never even seen before, changing constantly as he turned it.

Remarkable.

He stood up and looked around, realized that he was very far from home, so far already, and he didn't really remember getting here at all. The sun had begun to set. Had she hypnotized him so? As he looked this way and that to gather his bearings, there was another glint of light, far on the horizon.

He set course for it instantly, and he didn't know why he did that instead of returning home, as much as he understood little else of what he was doing then. He tucked the feather in the satchel attached to his horse's saddle, mounted, and began the journey to the shining light far in the distance.

He didn't even consider turning back then, even to let his sister know where he was.

He carried on, and two days later he reached that beacon, to discover it was another feather. He picked it up, tucked it away with the first, and looked around. Surely enough, there off towards the mountains, was yet another glint.

He realized it was a trail, a trail of otherworldly feathers, and he followed it.

Fields passed, some of wheat and others of sunflower, he crossed rivers and mountains, plains, vastness, nothingness, guided only by that little glint of light far on the horizon.

A fortnight later, he realized he had reached unfriendly lands, and was no longer within the bounds of his own kingdom.

So far from home, and he knew that his sister was in an absolute uproar, searching for him, and no doubt that there were many riders out there now, at her behest, searching for their lost Prince. Still, he didn't turn back. Had come too far, too far, and wanted to see what sort of bird or beast or demon had such feathers. Wanted to see what prize, good or evil, lied in wait at the end of such a trail.

Three weeks after he had first glimpsed that woman, there was at last a hopeful sign. After picking up a feather, he looked for the next and didn't see that familiar glint. What he did see, however, was almost better. Smoke on the horizon, and when he approached closer there was the sight of a tiny town. A village.

Relief.

He set course for the village, because there were no more beacons and so clearly the trail had led him to this little town. Must have been the end of the line. He was very eager to see what this unassuming place held for him.

When he approached close enough to make out houses in detail, there was a movement in the field before him. A man, running towards him. Ivan felt a momentary flash of fear, because at a glance, with that glinting hair and paleness, he had mistaken the person for that woman that had lured him here in the first place. But it was not; just a very young man, and when he could no doubt see Ivan clearly, he fell to a halt, realizing he was seeing a stranger.

Ivan was rather awed, as he was with that woman.

The man he saw there in the field just beyond the village was utterly breathtaking. Had never seen anyone like that, and Ivan halted his horse and stared for a short while, as the man stepped back, looking rather alarmed in a way. Certainly on guard.

A beautiful man, the most handsome Ivan had seen. Why did he think so much of that woman while looking at him?

Quite young, at that stage perhaps of being called a man by some and a child by others. Tall and strong, regal at a glance, holding himself well and with dignity. His chin was high, posture straight. High cheeks and a narrow, straight nose. Pale hair, short and neat, lit up white and gold in the sunlight, and paler skin. A commoner who stood and looked like a prince. How strange!

Awed and mesmerized, struck instantly, Ivan dismounted his horse and stepped forward to ask, "What is your name?"

Had not introduced himself, had not inquired where he was, had made no other polite diplomatic gesture—just wanted to know that man's name, immediately.

The feathers had led him to this man, surely. Had no doubt of it in that moment.

The man stared at him, his eyes pinning Ivan down for how piercing and pale they were, and when the man was still and silent, it did occur to Ivan that he was very likely not being understood. He was far from home, and these lands didn't speak his tongue.

He took a step forward, the man took one back, and Ivan softened his voice and tried to appear gentle and peaceful as he tried, slowly, "Can you understand me at all?"

A crinkle of the man's brow, a very odd expression that Ivan couldn't place, and then a soft inhale.

A sudden bow at the waist, and a very deep, rumbling voice murmured, "No, I— I understand you. Apologies. My name is Ludwig. And yours?"

That was a relief!

Ivan scoffed a bit, looked around at the village, and said, with a lift of his hands, "You do not know me? I am Prince Ivan."

A slight step back, a glance around, and it very clear that the handsome man was nervous, anxious, and that was perfectly understandable, having a foreign prince ride straight into his village with no warning. But if the man spoke his tongue, then surely he knew the Prince? That was quite odd.

All the same, the man bowed again, more deeply, and kept his voice clipped and respectful when he uttered, "It's an honor, your majesty. If unexpected."

No doubt.

The horse snorted, agitated and tired, and Ludwig glanced at it briefly, and said, "You must be tired from your journey. Come with me. We'll find straw for your friend."

"Most appreciated."

He followed where Ludwig led, stepping as a stranger into that little village. He wasn't exactly the sort of prince who had left his city to mingle with the commoners, and so this was certainly a new experience.

Ludwig led him quietly into the village, and through his entrancement, Ivan did realize, however vaguely, that the people in town were speaking in a language Ivan did not understand. Would have questioned more, perhaps, how this man understood him and spoke perfectly with no accent when clearly this town spoke something else.

Was far too taken by that face to ask questions.

When they reached a pasture with a small stable, Ivan tied his horse, Ludwig tossed him some hay, and they began walking again, as Ludwig gave Ivan a rather impromptu tour of his tiny town. Everyone stared at him as they walked, and he wondered how many of them may have recognized him, be it by his face or his massive horse.

Time passed, and in all honesty, Ivan was rather disappointed that this handsome man wasn't fawning over him as he perhaps vainly felt he deserved. Had gotten so used to endless offers of matrimony all these years that maybe his ego had gotten a bit out of control.

He was still a Prince, and that alone should have garnered a bit more interest, regardless of current hostilities between the lands.

Before he could think of anything clever and charming to begin what was a very subconscious effort to woo this pretty face, he had to squint and shield his eyes from a sudden, blinding burst of light. A flutter in the air, and when he refocused his gaze it was to see a stunning bird drifting down. Ivan watched it, entranced, as it settled quite effortlessly into Ludwig's waiting arms.

By no means a bird he had ever seen, in any land.

Ludwig seemed very unbothered, as if this were quite a normal occurrence, and as he held the bird there its tail feathers pooled far over and onto the ground, long as Ivan was tall. Multi-colored. Shimmering. As much as that woman in the field had elicited from Ivan a shiver, so too did that bird.

Ludwig just smiled, fondly, and murmured something to the fowl.

Ivan turned his eyes then to that bird, held within Ludwig's arms.

"And this creature? Where did you find this? This is not worldly."

Ludwig glanced down at the beautiful bird wrapped protectively in his embrace, pale lashes covering his eyes as he did so, and his thunderous voice was soft and loving as he said, "Indeed not. I was presented with her. Many years ago, when I was but a child, I went to the river to pray to the gods to protect my brother on his journey. The clouds broke, and the sun goddess came down. In her arms she carried this bird. She offered a gift, she said, that my brother would always find his way home. And so he has."

"Your brother?" Ivan repeated, incredulously. "You say the goddess herself came down to gift this upon two commoners? How absurd!"

Why would the sun ever show herself to this man, and merely to help his brother find a way back to this little town?

Truly, it was absurd.

Yet, absurd or no, Ludwig opened his arms, and the bird spread its wings, lifting itself into the air to perch then upon Ludwig's shoulder. At the opening of the bird's wings, the light burst forth from it, feathers suddenly running with silver and gold in turn, the long tail feathers shining in shades of metallic blue and green.

Had never seen anything like it, and had no words to ever describe it to anyone should they have asked. He knew at a very glance that the feathers he had followed had come from this creature.

Ivan very much believed Ludwig then, and heard himself breathe, "So it is! Ha! Why? Why would the gods show themselves to _you_ , let alone bestow upon you such a gift?"

A lowering of Ludwig's eyes, in respect.

"I know not, highness. I just accepted it, gratefully. Who am I to question the gods?"

Indeed, but Ivan was agitated all the same, if only at the audacity. To think that the gods would show favor upon this commoner instead of the princes. Interesting. The anger was quick to fade, and was replaced by curiosity and intense interest, helped along greatly by that lovely face and those beautiful eyes.

As much as that bird, he had never seen eyes like that.

Ivan changed tune, and tried his hand more at flattery then.

"Indeed, who are we to question the will of the gods. They chose you no doubt for a reason. You stand out so for your beauty, they must have been able to spot you amongst the vast plains."

Another respectful aversion of eyes.

He glanced at the bird, whose tail feathers brushed the ground even as it sat there upon its ordained owners shoulder.

Emboldened, Ivan reached out, turned Ludwig's head back towards him, and added, "Tell me, are you familiar with my lands? You speak our language. Were you born there? Were you uprooted by the wars? I will gladly take you home with me if it was so."

A tint of red on those pale cheeks, and Ludwig exhaled, appearing quite flattered indeed.

A good start, although for what exactly he couldn't say.

A short hesitation, and then Ludwig said, tentatively, "I admit I cannot explain it. Before you spoke to me just now, I have never heard this tongue. I know not how I speak to you. I can only imagine my friend here has a part to play in that."

Ivan gawked at Ludwig yet again, and then his eyes flitted to the bird.

Well, certainly would explain it, he supposed. Rather frightening in a way, although spectacular. Could only imagine how Ludwig felt. No wonder he had looked so alarmed when Ivan had first spoken, hearing a new language and yet perfectly understanding. Enough to startle anyone.

Ivan laughed to himself a bit, and couldn't help but smile.

Now this was true divinity! Not that egotistical, embellished story the Dread Knight wove. Someone like this could claim celestial favor, and yet he stayed in this quiet village, hidden from the world and seeking no power or fame.

Ivan intensely respected that.

They walked a bit, and prattled.

Ivan caught sight of a grand tapestry then, hanging on the loom of an old spinstress, and it instantly drew him over. He studied it, as Ludwig watched him quietly. A white man in white armor on a white horse, hair as silvery-white as the light cast by that bird, eyes deep red and sword in his hands. An endless blue sky behind him, the golden sun in the corner of the tapestry, beams raining down. Charging, of course. As usual.

Ah, yes. His favorite person.

Ivan looked back at Ludwig and asked, blandly, "You know this man?"

He asked because he was expecting to share a good laugh with Ludwig, mocking Gilbert's false claims with this man who had seen the true grace of the gods.

Ivan did not get what he wanted.

Ludwig's wide, pretty smile.

"Of course I do! He's my brother."

A jolt of shock.

He looked back and forth between the tapestry and Ludwig, breathlessly, and yet for however hard he tried he could find no similarities at all. Perhaps in person it was easier, but he would never have looked at these two and imagined they were siblings.

The gift of the goddess went from absurd to insulting.

Were the gods meddling in the wars of men now? Did they favor the Knight over the Prince? And above that anger, that offense, there was a twinge of fear. Almost a sort of nagging uncertainty. If this child was favored by the gods, then perhaps Gilbert's claims were not so false after all. Perhaps these two did hold some sort of divinity.

It shook him up a bit.

Detested that feeling more than he detested Gilbert. Uncertainty. Wondering now about Gilbert and his self-made legend. Disconcerting.

Apparently oblivious to the extremely unpleasant sentiments Ivan was feeling, Ludwig smiled up at the tapestry, adoringly, and then he turned to Ivan and said, so eagerly, "I know not when he will return, but you're so welcome to remain here and wait, that you may discuss peace."

"Peace?" Ivan scoffed, looking Ludwig up and down. "What peace? I have no intentions of discussing peace. I need not acquiesce, when so far your brother is ever unable to breach my kingdom. Why should I want peace? I'll eradicate them all, sooner or later."

And by the gods, he meant that! This new revelation changed nothing. Divine or no, holy or no, blessed or no, Ivan would never bow to Gilbert, never, would never live to see his victory. Would have fallen upon his sword before he ever bowed to that man as a king.

Could have sworn that he saw the hairs on Ludwig's arms stand up, and the bird sidestepped from one shoulder to the other.

Ludwig hesitated, and then asked, so carefully, "Well, then— Forgive me, highness, then why have you come here if not to discuss peace?"

Ivan looked around, at this quiet little town, and felt rather asinine.

He could only be honest, though, and said, as he reached into his satchel and pulled out one of those shimmering feathers, "I found this feather and followed the trail. It led me here. I merely wanted to see what sort of majesty lay on the end of such a strange path. I see now it is quite majestic indeed."

He didn't know if he meant the bird or Ludwig. Both, perhaps.

But Ludwig's face instantly changed upon seeing that feather in his hand, and he gasped aloud, "Oh, no!"

"What's wrong?"

Ludwig appeared quite frantic then, harried and so worried, and his voice was higher and urgent when he asked, "Did you take them all?"

Ivan looked down to the satchel around his waist, and lifted up the top, where the collected feathers sat shining.

Ludwig's face fell, and he looked devastated then, and Ivan found it as detestable as anything else, that handsome face so distraught.

"What's wrong?" Ivan asked again, and Ludwig seemed on the verge of tears.

Could barely speak at all when he managed to answer, "That trail was meant for my brother, that he wouldn't lose his way."

Ivan couldn't say he felt guilt, because he didn't. How was he to ever know?

For that matter, why should he care?

Ludwig came forward, glistening bird perched yet upon his shoulder, and he implored, "Please! I beg you, highness; return from whence you came, and replace the feathers along the way, that my brother will find his way home."

Ivan glanced over his shoulder, at the vast nothing, the immense and arduous journey, and then back at Ludwig.

"It's so far. It's not an easy journey."

Not that he wouldn't have to make it again of course, to return home, but he was in no rush to do so after so long, and certainly now he had a fair bit of power over this village, and Ivan had never denied his love of power.

Knew where Gilbert lived, and that was invaluable.

Ludwig stepped forward farther, and Ivan's eyes flitted to the silvery bird, mesmerized yet by the glimmering plumage. Ludwig clasped his hands as the bird spread its shimmering wings, and Ivan was hypnotized by the both of them when Ludwig beseeched, "Please! Go back! Ask of me your price, prince, and I shall pay it."

Ivan looked between the man and his bird, and began, "Your brother is the Dread Knight that fights against me and my father. Why should I allow him to find his way home?"

A piercing stare, a deep inhale, and then Ludwig lowered himself to his knees, hands ever clasped there before him, and he bowed his head as the bird gave a great flap of its wings and rose up into the air. That time, Ivan was too awestruck by Ludwig to lift his eyes up to the circling avian.

"Prince! My brother is honorable. He fights without fear to protect these lands, as your soldiers do yours. Hold not his place of birth against him. He does what he thinks is right, as do you. Please—ask of me what you will."

A rush of heat, that surge that came when he realized a victory was before him. Ego led his actions then more than rationality. Ivan saw something he wanted, and aimed to take it, as was custom.

He knelt down to one knee, reached out and grabbed Ludwig's chin, lifting his head up to meet his endless eyes.

His price had been requested, and Ivan gave it then.

"Marry me."

A sharp inhale, and those pretty shot open wide, and had Ivan not been holding his chin certainly his mouth would have fallen open as well.

He certainly had no shame in asking. If this man was remarkable enough for the goddess of the sun herself to come down and offer him that sacred bird, then he was fit to become a prince. No dishonor in him being a commoner, with such a celestial blessing over his head. Even the gods could see how beautiful he was.

And beyond that, this matrimony would force Ludwig's powerful brother into stillness, one way or another. The biggest threat to his kingdom quietly quelled. He had not come here to discuss peace, but may have yet found it, regardless of whether or not he truly wanted it. He had always wanted to conquer these lands, and it didn't matter if that came through violence or marriage. All the same, in the end.

His sister would certainly leave him be, if he married at last.

He could have searched every land for every day for the rest of his mortal life, and would never have encountered another being such as this one here before him.

Ludwig had yet to speak, staring up at Ivan in alarm, and Ivan lifted his head and said, perhaps snidely, "What? You asked the price. I gave it to you. What's your answer?"

That silence was heavy, and he knew the price was as well, but really, what more could a commoner ask for, to marry a prince? It should have been an astounding honor, and surely Ludwig was also aware of the political benefits.

And yet Ludwig hesitated, and his eyes lowered to Ivan's chest, boring straight through him and into nothing.

At last, a deep whisper.

"They say you're cruel. That you strike down your own men as they flee. I fear you won't keep your word."

A burst of anger, and he took great offense, jerking Ludwig's head up so harshly it must have hurt his neck, forcing eye contact once more.

"Cruel? Yes, perhaps, but no more than your brother, who burns villages as he retreats. We both kill men that fight against us. How does that make me so different? I do punish my soldiers that retreat, I admit that, but that is only because _I_ never retreat, and if they fight for me, I hold them to my own standards. I never lie—if I give you my word, I'll honor it, whatever comes to pass."

He always kept his word, always, and the assumption was rather infuriating.

Ludwig met his eyes evenly then, and it was alarming to Ivan, that stare. Piercing and right through him, judging him and reading him. Assessing his honesty. The very stare that woman in the field had sent him. Uncanny. Ludwig seemed then to find some resolve and his senses, and his face hardened as much as his voice.

"Very well. I shall trust you. Remake the trail, and I will do as you ask. On one condition."

Ivan's brow shot up at the audacity, mouth falling open, and he asked, in a high voice of disbelief, "Oh? Is that so?"

Ludwig didn't flinch, holding himself sure and strong, and didn't falter at all when he responded, "Yes! I'll agree to your deal, if you promise to sit down with my brother and discuss peace."

"You're in no position to be making demands," Ivan pointed out, staring Ludwig down at full intensity, ever gripping Ludwig's chin.

Ludwig endured it quite well, and didn't back down.

"You say you hold your men to your own standards. How high can they be, if you will not even consider merely speaking with my brother?"

Had a good bit of gall, this man. This commoner, making demands of a prince who clearly had the upper hand. It was that bravery that made Ivan smile, in the end, and concede, because he found it so appealing. No one had ever spoken back to him in such a manner. Very refreshing.

So Ivan looked Ludwig up and down, knew that the prize was very well worth it, and snorted.

"Very well. Consider it done. On my honor."

Ludwig looked quite brave then, quite strong and sure, resolute, determined, and no longer showed any fear. Ivan released his chin, and Ludwig stood upright fluidly, pulling himself up straight and tall, chin held high and shoulders squared.

Ivan was captivated by him.

A handsome man was wonderful, a divine one remarkable, but a brave one was priceless.

Luckily for Ivan, Ludwig was all three.

He stuck out his hand, and Ludwig clasped it with no doubt and no quiver.

The deal was forged.

Ah, couldn't wait to inform Irina that she could retire her endless list of suitors at last.

The day was late, however, and Ivan was very quick to say, "I shall leave at dawn. My horse needs to rest."

"Of course. Follow me."

He was led to a home that he assumed was Ludwig's, and therefore likely Gilbert's as well. What a surreal moment that was, sitting down on his enemy's bed, looking about and seeing a white shield and many scrolls hanging on the walls. One of them was of himself; how fitting. Ludwig immediately left him, and didn't return all night. All Ivan could do was sleep, and gladly so. How wonderful a bed felt after weeks.

When dawn broke over the mountains, cold and frosty, Ivan was led by Ludwig to his horse. He was not looking forward to the journey, but was excited all the same, knowing what the end would bring. Was positively bristling with anticipation, fidgeting and eager as he put the saddle on the steed. Ludwig merely stood very still and quiet, straight and regal, shimmering bird on his shoulder and looking quite dignified.

Ivan mounted his horse, looked down at Ludwig, tilted his head, and said, offhandedly, "What a prince you will make. You already stand like one."

Ludwig lifted his brow, pretending to be very unimpressed despite how clear it was that he was suppressing a smile.

Following that terrifying woman had been the best thing Ivan had ever done in his life.

The bird fluttered to Ludwig's forearm, Ludwig kissed the bird atop its head, and then, with a thrust of his arm into the air, the bird took to the sky. A long, intense stare between Ivan and Ludwig, Ivan couldn't help but smile quite widely as Ludwig struggled to keep his face blank, and then Ivan took up the reigns and was off, his horse trotting after the soaring bird.

Couldn't wait to return!

He glanced over his shoulder at the last moment, and saw Ludwig there at the edge of the village, watching him go.

A long distance was between them when the bird finally gave a short loop in the sky and then slowed, fluttering down.

The bird settled upon the ground, and waited patiently for Ivan to reach it. As much as Ivan often spoke to his horse when alone, he spoke then to that bird, because no one was around, and he muttered to it, tiredly, "I suppose this is where I lay a feather, no?"

The bird, like the horse, gave no response, and merely stared at him, head bobbing to and fro.

Ivan opened the satchel and tossed a feather onto the ground with a sigh.

Apparently satisfied, the bird took flight once more, and Ivan followed.

Ivan sighed away, muttering to the horse and the bird, "Long have I sought to end this knight, and now I find myself placing feathers in the wilderness that he may return home! My sister was right; I should have married long ago, then I wouldn't be in this position, would I? What a pretty face does to a man! It's not right." He leaned forward and patted his horse's neck, berating, "Why are you letting me be taken in like this? Have you nothing to say? A Prince should be immune to love."

Maybe he had lost his mind long ago, always alone as he was.

Holding conversations with the horse and bird certainly made the time go faster, and before he knew it he was back where he started. When the last feather was laid, however, Ivan didn't return home to inform his sister of his whereabouts, and merely turned immediately around and began the journey back.

Was far too eager to claim his prize.

This time, as he followed the feathers back, he left them there upon the ground and did not disturb them.

He kept his word, as he always did.

But, ah, what a long journey it was! Naturally, it would been faster with a warhorse, a thoroughbred, but his lumbering, massive workhorse wasn't meant for galloping. Ivan could only be patient and work with him, given how old the poor thing was, although he did chide, from time to time, "Oh—! Faster, you big lummox!"

He was pertly ignored. As always.

All Ivan could do was ride along and plan out his immediate future. Had never anticipated marriage now, after so long, and it was quite exhilarating. Quelling Gilbert seemed very pale in comparison.

When he finally reached that village yet again at nightfall, Ludwig once more came out, as he had that first time, waiting patiently there in the field. A very quick bow, as Ivan smiled away at that beautiful sight, and that time Ludwig smiled back at him, if not rather coolly.

No words at first, as Ludwig merely led the horse once more to pasture and then led Ivan to a fire a short distance away.

As they fell to a halt, Ivan glanced at Ludwig, and asked, eagerly, "Well! What say you? Have you planned out your illustrious future as a prince? Thinking already of renaming cities in your honor? Or are you frightened?"

The bird came down then, landing on Ludwig's shoulder as it had before.

Ludwig, quite calm, merely smiled at his bird and then said to Ivan, "I've had many weeks now to ponder. To seek advice. I've thought of so many things. Of you. I'm not afraid. Rather, I suppose I should be honored. My brother will find his way home, and I shall make family of his mortal enemy. That means far more to me than claiming the title of prince. Never had I imagined an end to the war in this manner. Not precisely how I anticipated my life unfolding."

"I hope it's a pleasant surprise," Ivan muttered, collapsing in exhaustion around the fire and lying upon his back to stare up at the stars. He chose not to mention that the end of the war was nowhere near guaranteed; he had merely agreed to discuss peace, but had never promised to bring it.

Sleep started coming over him almost the second his back had hit the ground. Over nine weeks of endless riding had utterly spent him, and the horse probably really was declaring holy war upon him at this very moment. May as well rename him the Dread Steed.

He turned his head when Ludwig came over and sat down beside of him, staring down at him quietly, observing him.

Ivan lifted his brow, eyes heavier and heavier with each second, and asked, "What's that look about? You didn't think I would really return?"

With no hesitation, Ludwig replied, "Oh, no. I knew you would return the moment you looked into my eyes. I had no doubt of that."

Ivan would gladly have stared up at that handsome face all night, but could barely keep his eyes open. Ludwig noticed, and a hand was suddenly around his own, tugging him gently upright.

"Come. You must rest."

Ivan certainly didn't refuse, and followed where Ludwig led him. Which of course was once more back into the home of his enemy, although by now Ivan may have just begun calling Gilbert his in-law.

Left a rather bad taste in his mouth, admittedly.

He sat once more on the edge of the bed, and Ludwig inclined his head and tried to take his leave. This time, Ivan didn't let him get far. He snatched Ludwig's wrist at the last moment, and Ludwig glanced down at him.

"Stay. It is your bed. Lie with me."

Even in the dark, he could see Ludwig's pale face burning red.

A rumble.

"We're not married _yet_ , highness."

Sounded rather scandalized.

"Not like _that_ ," Ivan clarified, with a snort. "Just sleep here beside me."

Ludwig looked around quite anxiously, hesitantly, clearly very nervous and perhaps he had all right to be, for it was very inappropriate he would admit. Still, Ivan held his wrist, and Ludwig had little choice but to concede to him, and nodded his head.

Content, Ivan lied back, and Ludwig very carefully followed, on the very edge of the bed and keeping a gap between them. Ivan would have none of that, and was quick to roll onto his side, throw his arm over Ludwig, and pull him in. Ludwig tensed up like a board, not moving a muscle, and Ivan merely snorted to himself and buried his face in Ludwig's hair.

Loved that sensation already, as well as the scent of Ludwig.

He was asleep in a second.

Dawn came far too soon.

When he awoke, Ludwig was gone. Ivan could never say he was very surprised. He was heavy-handed, and Ludwig might have been overwhelmed. Was quite young, after all, and very sheltered by his brother likely, given that Ivan had had no clue at all as to his existence, when he knew just about everything else about Gilbert.

He set out into the pale, cold dawn, and Ludwig was sitting on the hill behind his house, staring off into the mountains quietly, the bird upon the ground, glinting in the rising sun. Ivan came up beside him, threw himself onto the ground and onto his back, the frosted grass quite invigorating beneath him, and Ludwig merely glanced over at him rather calmly.

His face was quite soft, serene.

Hoped that he was charming Ludwig as well as Ludwig had charmed him.

Perhaps he was, for Ludwig lied back down with him, and they watched the sky together for a while, as the drifting clouds changed colors with the sun, and it struck Ivan, the sheer absurdity of this situation.

It was something that never would have crossed his mind before, and yet here he stood : he was waiting in a little village for the return of his nemesis, so that he could unexpectedly discuss terms of peace with him because Ivan had stupidly fallen in love with his brother.

The course of the world and the will of the gods was quite strange, but he knew for certain he was where he was meant to be, because he had been led here by something very much not of their mortal world.

With all of that said, Ivan was no fool; he knew very well that the 'peace talks' with Gilbert could very easily fall through, more so with how belligerent they both were and with absolutely nothing for either of them to truly gain. Gilbert, in particular, would accomplish nothing by accepting peace, and Ivan knew he would very likely reject any offer Ivan made.

Ivan stood to potentially lose his promised prize, if Gilbert refused.

So Ivan turned to Ludwig shortly after, and asked, "Who here has the authority to wed us? I insist we do so immediately, rather than in my kingdom. For my peace of mind."

Ludwig didn't seem surprised or much taken aback. Surely the same thoughts had crossed his mind, and no doubt he had anticipated this.

Because Ludwig was not afraid of him, he lifted his brow and asked, perhaps riskily, "Are you implying, highness, that your lands shall uphold a covenant forged in the country of my brother? When you have long denied our very existence?"

Ivan scoffed yet again at Ludwig's audacity, and yet conceded the point.

Had of course never considered anything in these false lands worthy of upholding, but in this instance he would certainly make an exception, and he rather enjoyed Ludwig pointing out his hypocrisy. Was so used to everyone giving him everything so easily, and Ludwig, although certainly submissive, truly tested the bounds of what he could actually get away with.

Ivan was utterly and absolutely taken with him.

He reached out to the side, and clapped his hand atop Ludwig's, and stayed silent.

Ludwig just lied there, placidly, and then finally murmured, "There is one officiant here. I will talk to him today."

No tremor in Ludwig's voice, and Ivan smiled up at the sky. Couldn't wait for Irina to see him come home married. Was going to give her a good fainting spell, he was, for the shock of it. To think he had given up on himself.

Ludwig was as good as his word, and come nightfall Ivan found himself on a knee around a fire before an old man, Ludwig kneeling there beside of him. A lasso was placed around their necks, many words in a language Ivan did not speak, and the shining bird hung up in the branches of a tree, staring down.

Everyone in the village was whispering, murmuring, looked quite alarmed, and Ivan could scarcely have cared less, because all he truly saw in that moment was Ludwig, lit up orange in the light of the fire, eyes golden. The old man appeared far beyond mournful when he placed his palm atop Ludwig's bowed head, and had Ivan been more focused he would have cared a bit more about how Ludwig's hands were shaking. He waited, patiently, and when everything was said and done, they walked quietly back to Ludwig's home.

A very surreal experience. Quick, quaint, certainly nothing grand like back home, but just good enough to make Ivan happy, if only from a legal perspective. When he was home, he would give Ludwig a civilized wedding and all that came along with it.

When they were alone, Ludwig stood there for a very long time, immobile and silent, seemingly quite terrified, as one could really expect someone so young to be upon their wedding night. Ludwig knew nothing of the world, and was very out of his element in this instance.

There was nothing Ivan could say that would take away that anxiety, that fear, and all Ivan could really do was extend his hand and say, quietly, "You haven't been afraid of me throughout it all. Don't start now."

Ludwig's pale eyes ran over his face, studying him as usual, and then down to his hand. A long stare, a pondering, and then Ludwig found once more his bravery, as he always seemed to, and took Ivan's hand.

As in everything else that had led them to this, Ludwig didn't falter, didn't panic, and showed no fear of Ivan when Ivan fell atop him and kissed him at last. A long hesitation, and then Ludwig's palms had taken hold of his face, carefully, and it was quite comforting, that motion. Felt rather like a child again, for just a moment.

He took his time with everything, was very careful and very mindful, and took every precaution and care not to hurt Ludwig although a bit of pain was of course going to occur.

Ludwig merely clung to his shoulders and buried his face and didn't say a word, didn't seem distressed, and Ivan felt his confidence ever rising.

Was exactly where he was meant to be, however bizarre it may have been, tangled up in his enemy's brother who was now a prince and to whom Ivan now owed tentative peace talks.

The world was funny at times.

Regretted nothing.

That night was the first time that Ivan had forgotten all about war. The one and only time in his memory that his hectic mind slowed down and let him rest. That he felt calm and happy. Subdued. Just lying there atop Ludwig as the thudding of his heart sounded out from beneath. Pleasantly simple. Strange, to feel tranquility when he had only ever known battle.

The first time in his life he could say that he knew peace.

Ludwig's hands ran over his back until he fell asleep.

When dawn broke, they were face to face, and Ludwig was staring at him when he stirred. No rush to do anything then, and for those next days all they really did was walk about in the hills and sit on the grass and talk to each other.

Getting to know each other a bit, after the wedding.

One week turned into two. Gilbert had yet to return. The mornings were ever colder. Two weeks turned to three. Still, Gilbert did not return.

Ivan was very torn. Truly, being away from his kingdom and all responsibilities for so long had been a great relief, a burden off of his shoulders, a very long overdue rest that he had earned. Staying in this quiet little village, passing his days walking peacefully with Ludwig, and at night having Ludwig's hand on his face, as they whispered to each other in the dark; one of his happiest moments.

At the end of that third week, Ivan knew he just couldn't wait anymore. The snows would come soon, in another month or so, and the short window of opportunity would close. If he didn't make it back home before the first snowfall, he would be trapped here until springtime. Simply couldn't do that, had shirked his duties for far too long. Had had his fun, alas, and it had to come to an end.

Waiting longer would be very hazardous.

So, one chilly morning, Ivan pulled Ludwig to his chest, kissed his forehead, and said, "Let's head out."

Ludwig appeared quite confused.

"To where, highness?"

Ivan snorted, gave Ludwig's chin an affectionate bump, and chided, "You need not call me that. You're a prince now as well. So let us make haste, before the weather turns worse. I can't wait to show you my kingdom."

He began tugging Ludwig outside, going to collect his horse, and he was just so intent, as he always was, that he didn't realize at first that Ludwig was really rather just dragging behind him, heels in the dirt and seeking to halt them.

Only when they reached the steed and Ivan let Ludwig go did he see the odd expression on Ludwig's face, and realized that Ludwig didn't really want to go anywhere.

No choice in _that_ matter, and Ivan was quick to say, a bit more sternly, "Come. I cannot wait here forever. I must return to my kingdom. It's been far too long. We must go. I am a prince. I cannot just disappear for years on end."

A crinkle of Ludwig's brow. A look of alarm.

Already, Ivan felt irritation rising.

"But," Ludwig began, "You promised you would discuss peace."

"And so I shall," Ivan shot back, as he tied the saddle on his horse. "I never said when. I'll return here alone, eventually, and do as you have asked. I will not stay all winter. It's preposterous. Come."

An awful silence.

Ludwig looked up at him, pale hair lit up in the morning sunlight and eyes golden in the beams, and finally said, with a tremor, "No. This is my home. I won't leave my brother."

Fury, rising up out of the depths and overriding everything else in its wake.

Had some gall indeed, Ludwig, and this time had pressed too far.

The nerve!

Ivan reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him forward, harshly. The bird flew up, circling above, casting glints of gold light down upon them as Ivan grabbed Ludwig's arms and shook him, violently.

"You gave me your word! I kept my end. I did what you asked! So too must you. I will not be dishonored in this way! How dare you! Uphold your end, or I will ignore all peace talks and execute your brother instead."

An awful look of despair, and a sharp inhale.

"But I _did_ uphold my end, highness. I married you. I did what you asked. You asked me to marry you, and so I have. You never asked more than that. You never asked me to leave home, and never did I swear to. I did what you asked. I have cast no dishonor upon either of us."

The red haze of anger led his actions then, although he knew in his heart that what Ludwig said was true. Ivan had asked for marriage, and Ludwig had given it to him. But was it so wrong of Ivan to expect that his newlywed return to his kingdom? Had been assumed from the start, and so of course he had never asked it.

"You won't insult me this way! Come. We're leaving. You have no choice. You made a vow. Fail to honor it, and your brother will pay the price. I know now where he lives; executing him will be far too easy. I'll raze this entire village."

The collapse of Ludwig's face, as he hung his head.

A cry from the bird circling above.

Ludwig had called him cruel once, and he didn't exactly mean to be, but in this instance he felt truly wronged and lashed out accordingly. They had come to an agreement, and Ivan was very unwillingly to accept any disobedience in that matter, when he had kept his promise.

Could have left Gilbert stranded in the wilderness.

There was an awful silence, as Ludwig looked over his shoulder to the mountains in the distance. Looking towards Gilbert, no doubt, and that was quite distasteful, and so Ivan grabbed Ludwig by both arms and quite literally picked him up and threw him upon the horse. Had made his choice. Ludwig tottered, trying to gather his balance, and he twisted himself around so that he was sideways upon the saddle, back to Ivan in what was obviously an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes.

He felt a bit hurt, admittedly, but shook his head and grabbed the reigns, walking the horse along.

As they made for the edge of the village, Ludwig said not a word, and it was Ivan who finally murmured, softly, "I shall come back to speak to your brother, as I promised. I'll gather your belongings then, whatever you request. I'll have more horses then."

Ludwig was silent, and the bird came down from the sky shortly after to settle into Ludwig's arms.

Ivan paused at the edge of town, looking over the plains, and gathered up his bearings. Wouldn't follow the feathers back and risk running into Gilbert. He had walked the route back now, and had a fairly decent understanding as to where he was by then. If he went across the river and to the north-west, around the smaller mountain range, he would reach home with no interruptions and no risk of hostility. A longer route, but a safer one. Could simply not risk running into Gilbert alone like this.

He started walking on foot, because it was best perhaps to let Ludwig calm down a bit before he joined him on the saddle. Had pushed him far enough today.

That silence was awful though, when they stopped for the night and Ludwig lied with his back to Ivan, having yet to make a sound. Had spent those wonderful weeks with Ludwig smiling at him and whispering to him at night.

Ivan just sat cross-legged and watched quiet Ludwig as clouds came and went.

In the morning, Ivan pushed Ludwig on the horse and climbed up in front of him. The horse was quite large enough to accommodate them comfortably, even as Ludwig stubbornly sat sideways to avoid any unnecessary contact with Ivan.

How dreary.

Ivan felt a bit disheartened, certainly, but not guilty, because he had done nothing wrong. Ludwig hadn't either, perhaps. More of a very unfortunate misunderstanding.

In his daze, lost in his thoughts as he was, it took Ivan nearly a fortnight before he realized that Ludwig had been silently sabotaging him, in a sense.

Just happened to look over his shoulder, and caught a glint of light not so far behind them.

Ivan saw the feather shining there upon the ground, and slowed the horse. A rush of his heart, and he turned his eyes to Ludwig, who sat there ever silently upon the horse, back to Ivan and bird in lap. Ivan dismounted and walked around and saw, with a fright, that one of the bird's wings had been plucked bare. Ludwig had been casting feathers along the ground the entire long journey.

A gasp, as Ivan realized.

Ludwig, leaving a beautiful trail of plumage for his brother to follow, that he could come and rescue him.

How foolish! Ivan had promised to discuss peace, on his own terms, and had intended to go back out. There was no point in leaving a trail for Gilbert, because Ludwig had made a deal and should have honored it.

Well. Ludwig had, really. It was Ivan that had extended the bounds of the contract, although he still considered it entirely reasonable. Had Ludwig really thought that Ivan would let him remain in that village after marriage, or perhaps that Ivan would end up staying there? How ridiculous.

Perhaps he really was stealing Ludwig, whisking him away so far into foreign lands, and Ludwig's trail was warranted.

Ivan led the horse to a tree, tied it, and went back as far as he dared, retrieving the feather he came across, clenching it in his hands. He needed only that one to leave a gap in the trail wide enough to throw Ludwig's brother off, given that there was only one per visible horizon, and he returned to his horse.

Ludwig sat there ever still, and had made no effort to flee, because of course doing so would have been foolish and deadly. Would have found himself lost in the vast nothingness, to succumb alone to fear and hunger.

Ivan stood before Ludwig, and looked up at him.

"Stop," he demanded, softly. "It will do no good. You've passed out of his ownership and into mine, as you accepted."

Ludwig refused to acknowledge him, staring over the swaying fields and bird held protectively in his arms, wrapped up in a caring embrace.

A moment later, as Ivan meant to move, Ludwig whispered, "I'm merely doing as I must, as I was ordered to long ago."

Didn't know what that meant, and Ludwig looked so sad that Ivan didn't bother asking.

Ivan let him keep the shining bird, because the trail had been interrupted.

The bird, as mournful as its owner, arched its neck downward and buried its head beneath Ludwig's arm. As Ivan walked back to untie the horse, he was certain that he saw a tear falling down Ludwig's cheek.

The bird shuddered.

Ivan led them onward, glancing back frequently now in intervals.

Feeling anxious and uncertain, Ivan stopped every few days and picked up the last feather Ludwig had cast. Despite the gap Ivan had caused, Ludwig continued his folly. The bird, wings bare several days later, presented its tail feathers to Ludwig, who plucked them dutifully one by one and cast them into the wind.

Ivan had tucked them all into a satchel over the past days, but he collected only one tail feather, as Ludwig stared blankly off into the horizon. Just that look on Ludwig's face prevented Ivan from taking up any more feathers. As if his heart were breaking with every one that he cast. Ivan didn't understand, and so he left them there.

He still intended to discuss peace with Gilbert, as he had promised, but this may have changed things. Gilbert attempting to follow this trail only to lose it may have made him far less willing to sit down with Ivan and talk. If Gilbert saw Ivan as a thief, no talks at all would occur.

And then, many days later, when the kingdom was in sight, a faint blur on the horizon, Ludwig gave a great, wavering gasp, and Ivan looked back to see him plucking the very last of the shining bird's tail feathers. He brought it briefly to his lips, closed his eyes, and then cast it into the wind, as he had all the others.

When the feather left Ludwig's hand, the bird gave an awful, piercing cry, and curled up in Ludwig's arms.

It was dead.

Ivan was astounded, and speechless.

Ivan, as before, couldn't bring himself to walk over and pick up that last feather, and left it there upon the ground. Simply didn't have the heart, as Ludwig bowed his head, clenched the motionless bird to his chest, and began to cry. Ivan hated it for him, he did, but that had been Ludwig's own foolish doing. That had never been necessary. Still, Ivan's heart was quite heavy when he completed that silent march to his kingdom, Ludwig quietly mourning his bird.

A horn sounded in the distance, and already, from so far, Ivan could hear his sister's loud voice, as she sought out her lost brother.

The bird was gone, yes, but Ivan had never considered that divine bird part of the arrangement. Had wanted Ludwig, and it was with Ludwig that Ivan entered those gates, victorious. At last, after so many months, Ivan returned home, and he had with him the most astounding possible prize.

So why, then, did he feel so dreadful?


	3. NOX

**NOX**

Gilbert may have watched Ludwig sleep every night, but every morning it was Ludwig sitting there on the edge of the bed, staring down at Gilbert with a tranquil smile as he waited for Gilbert to stir.

Even when he was so far from home, months and months on a trail, he would wake up in the morning, hovering there on the brink of sleep, and he could sense Ludwig there beside of him. The scent of him there in the air. A glint of gold in the rising sun. A low whisper. When Gilbert opened his eyes and no one was there, Gilbert still smiled, because he knew that Ludwig was back home at that very moment, sitting there on the bed and looking down at blank space, and Gilbert, leagues away, could stare at the blank space beside of him in turn.

Together, in their minds, they weren't really alone.

Ludwig knew that even when Gilbert was far away, that his big brother was always watching over him. Gilbert could lie there at the same time and know that someone was praying endlessly to the gods for his safe passage.

They were never apart, even so far away, and it would always be so.

This newest campaign was the fiercest yet that Gilbert had waged. Had been growing more and more desperate each time, and this crusade, however many times he was defeated, he simply refused to turn tail and flee. Couldn't bring himself to do so, when _so_ much rested upon his shoulders. He went farther south, as instructed, and gained ground each time but was yet rejected. What did the goddess want from him? How far was he meant to go?

He fought for as long as he could, well past what he previously would have deemed a safe time, and the men were getting anxious as the snows loomed.

Didn't want to retreat again.

He sought endlessly to break Ivan's lines, because every time he failed, every time he retreated, every time he limped back home in defeat, it was just one more reminder that Ludwig's time was running out. Every time Gilbert failed, Ludwig took one more step to the edge of the cliff.

He was in denial yet, and ever pretended that he would find a way to save Ludwig.

There were times as well when he contemplated caging that sacred bird, as its life seemed to be tied to Ludwig's. Caging it and keeping it under lock and key would protect Ludwig, would it not? Ah, that could never be. Ludwig would never stand for that, and Gilbert knew not what the bird was capable of. It was very likely the gods would merely unlock the cage when the time had come.

He hated feeling this helplessness. How could a man change a path set down by the gods themselves? Men had been defying the gods for as long as there had _been_ men and gods, and had never accomplished anything.

Gilbert wished he could have been more like Ludwig, and just proudly accepted it. He should have been proud that his little brother was what he was, had such a high calling, would accomplish something so grand, but he felt nothing of the sort.

Just despair.

Winning this war himself and killing Ivan was the only way to save Ludwig, and Gilbert felt that intense pressure.

He was so far from home now and yet persisted, and perhaps he would have done so yet longer had his men finally not come to him and tried, so carefully, "Sir—if we linger, our way back will be impassable for the snows. We shall be trapped here with no shelter until spring."

He knew it. Like with so much else, Gilbert had just been pretending. Knew he was defeated, but had stubbornly refused to admit it. He glanced up at the grey sky, and knew that they were right, that it was time to go home.

Oh, Ludwig. He had tried.

Gilbert finally lifted his chin, exhaled through his nose in irritation, and then nodded his head.

With that, they were off home.

Long weeks of riding, parting ways at respective villages, and a month later Gilbert found himself alone, wandering the mountains and mind always on Ludwig.

It was comforting, to see the gleam of the feathers on the horizon, to have that bit of Ludwig always with him, but frightening as well. That bird was a curse, more than a blessing.

He was many days yet from the village when Gilbert saw that rider galloping towards him, far in the distance. Shouting, too far away for him to make out the words. A bolt of panic all the same, as the rider came urgently up to him, and when they were close enough to be heard, he called, "Sir! Come quickly, the Eastern Prince came to the village—"

Didn't allow the man to finish speaking at all, for Gilbert had already spurred his horse on to fly as fast as was possible back to town, chest clenched up with fear and anger and a very deep sense of offense. Those terrible sensations he felt then, as he panicked and bolted home without even knowing what lay in wait; indescribable.

How dare that tyrant show his face! Had never been so _insulted_ , so deeply and intensely wronged. To think of that man setting foot into his home, his town, his lands, where everything he loved and protected rested. Oh, gods; had he razed the village?

Ludwig—

Had never ridden so fast, never, had never pushed his steed like this, and perhaps the horse could sense Gilbert's urgency, for he seemed to put everything he had into it, the other rider left far behind them as Gilbert desperately rode to town.

Six days later he made it, when it should have taken a fortnight.

And oh, that relief he felt, to see the village intact there in the distance, no smoke, no fire, no pile of rubble and ashes. Looked perfectly normal in fact, as Gilbert came barging forward. The only thing that was different than any other time was that Ludwig wasn't running out into the field to greet him as he always had.

He went straight into the village, in the middle of the square, and leapt off of his horse so furiously that he stumbled and rolled. Pulled himself upright quickly enough, and looked around this way and that in fury.

"Where is he? Where is the Prince?"

By the gods, was going to strike him dead there, this was his chance, his greatest chance, here before him was the opportunity to kill the Prince once and for all and save Ludwig in the process. Didn't need to breach those walls at all, had the Prince so foolishly come to him.

All anger faded, replaced by an elation so electric that every hair on his body stood up. Day and night, for nearly seventeen years, he had dreamt of nothing else but finding some way to _save_ Ludwig. That was all he wanted. All he desired now upon this earth. Wanted nothing more than that.

All he wanted was to save Ludwig.

He was smiling then, he could feel it, and he must have appeared quite manic to all of them because they stayed a good distance back from him, as he stomped about in a short circle, looking the town over.

Killing Ivan here, right now, would give him everything he wanted.

"Where is he?"

A long hesitation, and then someone finally gathered the courage to say, "Sir, the Prince left weeks ago."

Gilbert fell still, eyes wide and jaw clenched, and felt that joy crash back into despair.

Gone?

Yet another failure.

It took him so long to find his voice, dismayed as he was, and he finally asked them, "Gone? When did he come? What did he seek? Me? How did he get here? How did he find his way here? What did he come for?"

"He came first many months ago, sir. He stayed for a day, and left for more weeks, and then he returned. He remained here for...three weeks."

Wrath.

Rose up as easily as that elation had, and settled there in his chest, and he was so _angry_ at them, so angry, because there had been a chance to kill that man and save Ludwig, and it had slipped through Gilbert's fingers and no one else had acted upon it. No one else knew, no, but that was no excuse.

Oh, that miserable anger he felt!

Beneath it, terror.

Gilbert stalked about them all in a rage, voice high and breaking as he shrieked at them.

"And _what_! Here for _weeks_ , was he? And not a single one of you cowards thought to strike him down? Not a one? Night after night he slept here, and no one gathered the courage to slay him? Cowards! Disgraceful, all of you—"

"But," one of them bravely tried, "He wasn't here for war, sir! He was alone. He made no threats, nor aggression. He was courteous. Slaying him would have been dishonorable—"

Gilbert whirled around and struck the man in the face, and carried on his rampage.

It wasn't just Ivan's life that had slipped through his fingers; Ludwig slipped right along with him. Once more, Gilbert was unable to grasp him, to save him, as he so desperately desired.

Oh, Ludwig...

And then he suddenly realized that one face was missing, and his anger died down to be replaced with a cold dread that was unfathomable. He fell still where he stood, inhaled, looked around, and then called, desperately, "Ludwig! Where are you?"

Oh no, couldn't be, where was Ludwig? Was always the first to greet him upon return, always, was always here, without fail. Where could he have gone? He never strayed far. He had promised Ludwig, over and over again, that Gilbert would never let him be far away from home.

"Ludwig!"

He began stalking through the village, poking his head through every door, into every house, calling Ludwig's name endlessly as panic rose up ever more. The men followed him, trying yet to speak to him, but he blocked them out, heard not a word they said, so intent was he on finding his little brother.

Where was he?

"Ludwig!"

"Sir, listen—"

Couldn't be far, Ludwig had never left this town in his life, was merely wandering about nearby in the fields, had to be.

" _LUDWIG_!"

Someone was brave enough to reach out and grab his arm then and try to force him still. Gilbert wrenched away, and was grabbed again. That time, when he swiveled about and meant to strike out again, he found himself falling still at the awful looks on the faces of those men. One of the old women was crying. Crying?

For just a moment, Gilbert fell silent and immobile, and that was the chance the men needed to speak to him at last.

"Sir, Ludwig is gone. He's not here."

Gone? Impossible. That couldn't be.

He was given a shake, meant to focus him, as he felt the very ground beneath him dissolving away in fear.

"Ludwig is gone. He left with the Prince. They— Oh! _Gods_. Sir, they're _wed_. The Prince came and offered marriage, and Ludwig accepted, in the hopes of peace. He's gone now with the Prince back to the East."

It was shock that held Gilbert there still and silent. His chest had clenched up. No air, and the edges of his vision seemed dark, blurry. His hearing went out, suddenly. An awful ringing.

Alone there, lost and bewildered on some dark shore.

Stranded.

Years and years, watching Ludwig sleeping in the dark, the light of the moon catching him and turning him pale, and Gilbert had stared at him, fascinated because Ludwig was so beautiful in moonlight and yet had come from sunlight. Whispering over the shadows, and in that night, that dark, that was when Gilbert knew that Ludwig was safe then, at least then, if only for those few hours, there beside of him. Under Gilbert's arm and sleeping away, Ludwig was safe. Under the stars and moon, Gilbert ever kept watch.

Dawn came, a new day, and under her sunlight Ludwig's fate was no longer in his control, so Gilbert waited endlessly for night.

Night.

This night now that came over him was far from comforting. Stifling and inescapable. Endless. An eternity of darkness. No stars at all.

And then the night was quite red, as anger surged up yet again, ever hotter than before, stronger.

Red dawn.

His fury could have burnt up the Earth then, he was sure of it, and he hoped that it singed the gods as well. Could barely breathe, his chest was so tight with rage, and his clenched fists shook at his sides.

His wrath broke, he whirled around and grabbed the nearest man by the collar, lifting him off the ground in his anger, and he screeched to all of them, "And who did it? Who? Who married them? Who did it? Who defied me so? I'll strike them dead right here, I swear to the gods, how _dare_ all of you dishonor me in such a way! _Where is he?_ Where was he taken?"

He asked the questions, but he already knew. Knew where Ludwig had been taken, to that impenetrable capital city of the Eastern royals, and knew who had married them. There was only the one old fool, wasn't there, that old servant, who should have known better. The old bastard had anointed Ludwig as sovereign behind Gilbert, and had now signed his death warrant.

Gilbert bolted to his horse, grabbed his greatsword from its sheath, and began his warpath to the old man as the others trotted along at his side and tried to grab him and speak to him. He was far too intent to be distracted, and the old man clearly saw him coming, for he looked terrified and fell to his knees, hands clasped and pleading.

Gilbert swung the sword over his head, and had absolutely every intention of ending the old fool when he brought that greatsword down with his full force. Two men leapt in between them, two shields brought up, one before the other. His massive sword shattered the first shield, but the force slowed and his sword got caught up in the other shield, and the old man was saved.

Bastards!

He shook them off, but before he could raise his sword against several men were on him, grabbing his arms and forcing the tip of his sword to remain there in the ground.

Everyone was talking all at once, screaming, and everything felt so garbled to him then. Everything seemed blurred, far away. Couldn't seem to grasp the world. Just an awful, droning hum, blurred colors and lights and shapes, and only thing was painfully clear to Gilbert in that moment :

He had failed Ludwig.

Had been unable to save him when the time had come, and although that had been foretold to him so many times, for so long, had been unavoidable, Gilbert had still _hoped_.

Held still by those men, Gilbert looked them all over, feeling so dizzy suddenly, and asked, in a far lower voice, "How dare you, all of you. Who gave you permission to enact this? You would defy me?"

Looks amongst them, and then one brave one uttered, "But—we did as you told us, sir!"

"Yes," another quickly interjected. "You told us that when you're gone to war, that Ludwig is in command. We obeyed his orders, as you told us to. It was his command, not the Prince's. We did what he instructed us to do."

The despair was stifling. Couldn't breathe.

That wasn't fair—Ludwig was fearless and brave. Of course Ludwig stared death in the face and so easily signed himself away. Ludwig had known for nearly his entire life what his calling was, and was so willing to fulfill it. It was Gilbert who resisted, who mourned and feared and fled.

Not fair.

He toppled backwards then onto his backside, too numb suddenly to remain standing, his sword falling to the ground before him. He stared at it, unable to think, to comprehend. It seemed very much to him then like the night the goddess had appeared to him for the very first time, and all colors and sound had fled. Caught in that mist again, but this time borne of despair.

Ludwig was gone.

He buried his face in his palms, gasping for air as he struggled to find some sort of clarity, some sense of himself, some calm, but he could only see Ludwig, standing there at the side of that tyrant Prince and then kneeling, giving himself away for Gilbert's sake, to protect those he loved. Kneeling to a foreign Prince, because Gilbert had been too weak to defeat that Prince before time had run out. Ludwig was unafraid of the task that the gods had forced upon him.

Gilbert's greatest fear stood now before him, and all of his efforts had been in vain. He kept Ludwig safe at night, but in sunlight, in the rays of his mother, Ludwig had been lost.

He faded a bit into a sort of daze, and the next thing Gilbert was truly aware of, he was on his feet again and furiously bolting to and fro in the town, taking out his rage on anything he could get his hands on, as men tried to corral him and failed.

This level of anger was so foreign.

He tore apart everything in his sights, unable to stop himself, seeing in his head that Prince, sneering in satisfaction as he forced Ludwig's hand and then claimed a prize that he had no business taking. Attempting to conquer these lands behind Gilbert's back by means of diplomacy. Had stolen from Gilbert, had come unannounced and uninvited into these lands, _his_ lands, and had taken from Gilbert the thing he most cared about.

This went far beyond war.

When his rampage was over and everything in sight had been demolished and his hands were bleeding, he gripped his hair in his bloody fingers, stomped around a bit, and then picked up his sword and made straight for his horse.

If this was how the Prince would be felled, then Gilbert would no longer have a part of it. When he had asked for the power to defeat the Prince, it had never once been in his mind that it would doing so diplomatically. Ah! To think he had been tricked in such a manner. Had never meant _this_ , not this, had never wanted to be at peace with that kingdom by means of Ludwig. The Prince will fall, the goddess had said. Gilbert just hadn't realized it would be peacefully through a forced marriage.

The men called to him as he mounted, shouted after him, pleaded, but he ignored them all, and rode straight out of town and into the fields.

He defied the gods then, and set out in search of his little brother.

Found what he was looking for immediately, that familiar gleam on the horizon, Ludwig's silent trail, and set course. He cared not what the goddess had said, what she wanted, what her plans were, what she had foreseen and what she had foretold—he was going to get Ludwig back, at whatever cost. Would gladly have let the Earth entire crumble under the whim of the gods if it were for Ludwig's sake. If breaking this prophecy would bring about the doom of mankind, then so be it!

Ludwig was his, and Gilbert had sworn to protect him.

He rode relentlessly, for days and days, following feather after feather. He stopped to observe them, to add it all up in his head. So far, no tail feathers. He dreaded the sight of one, but was hopeful yet. At night, he stared up at the stars, and then turned his head sideways. For naught, because Ludwig was never there staring down at him.

Still, he closed his eyes, and knew that Ludwig was waiting for him. Ludwig was strong and brave; wouldn't bow, wouldn't give up so easily. Ludwig had never faltered in all these years, and would hold on for as long as it took Gilbert to find him.

He had to believe that.

A fortnight after he had left the village, Gilbert passed a feather, and then looked up.

Terror.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Suddenly, a gap in the feathers. Only empty fields, wheat and grass and mountains. No more glints of light, no more beacons, no more hints. He twisted his horse this way and that in circles, confused and scared and feeling lost. The sting of tears in his eyes, as helplessness surged up. _Couldn't_ lose Ludwig, couldn't. Would not let him go so quietly, but was lost as to which way to go.

Nearly dissolved into tears.

A sudden flash of light in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head. A bleary focus, a squint of his eyes. There, far in the distance, standing in a field of wheat, stood the goddess, her hair the same color as the gold around her, flowing out beside her as it always was.

Her arm was outstretched, and pointed to the distance.

She came to lead him? It had been her path laid down for Ludwig—Gilbert had thought by charging now she would have been angered at his defiance, at his audacity, but she came to him then and pointed the way.

She was tormenting him, perhaps, but he cared not.

Gilbert, lit up with hope, turned his horse to where she pointed and charged on.

She led him, every time there was a gap in the feathers.

Days and days, and Gilbert plowed through the lands as quickly as he could, through this mountainous passage he had never traversed, clinging only to that thought of Ludwig sitting on the edge of his bed.

His hope was momentarily destroyed, crushed, when he reached the next feather, and recognized it instantly. Oh, no—

By the time he found that first tail feather, long and vibrant and unmistakable, Gilbert knew that it would all be far too late had they all been plucked. It had been weeks now, far beyond the limit of fifteen days.

He stopped and stared down at it in horror, and when he looked in the horizon then, at the next glimmer of light, for one awful moment he almost didn't want to go. Didn't want to know. Didn't want to face it, had it happened. Didn't want it to be true, when he had denied it for so long. Years and years of fooling himself, shattered.

He wouldn't get there in time, couldn't. Too late. He would be too late.

A long, awful while he idled there, too afraid to move. He closed his eyes, pictured Ludwig there, asleep under the moon, gathered his courage, found his will, and forced himself to carry on, because there was always hope. He spurred his horse on, and as it had been when he had flown to his village, so then did he fly after those feathers, fast as he could, counting them as he went.

Days and days, and feathers came. The trail this time was uninterrupted, and the goddess did not appear.

Five feathers.

He couldn't sleep at night, pacing in circles and clenching his hair and speaking to Ludwig, although Ludwig couldn't hear him. Stopped only when the horse had to rest, because Gilbert never rested those awful days. Impossible to do so, dreading and thinking the worst.

Ten feathers.

His stomach was always churning, never still, panic always creeping in and feeling so cold, and not from the freezing air. The horse was spent, agitated and tired, but Gilbert pushed him on regardless, and it was only because the horse could sense Gilbert's fear that he pressed on.

Fourteen feathers.

Fourteen.

His vision had blurred with tears momentarily when he had approached that feather, afraid as he was to look around and see the last one shining. He slowed his horse at last, to a crawl, delaying it, because he was scared.

But then, when he at last came up to that fourteenth feather, so horrified, he finally gathered his bravery and looked up, and there was no light. No glint. He didn't see another feather. The kingdom was in sight, there on the horizon, and there were no more glints in the sunlight.

No more feathers visible.

Oh, that relief!

He grasped onto it, fervently, desperately, although of course he knew in his heart and mind that that final tail feather could have easily been one of the ones gathered up, one of the gaps, but he stubbornly cast that aside and foolishly pretended that the last feather was safe, because Ludwig had reached this kingdom before it had been necessary to pluck it.

Hope.

He made for the city then, with absolutely no plan other than barging straight inside and to the palace and demanding that Ivan restore to him what had been stolen. He would put Ludwig on his horse and send him off, and Gilbert would stay there and slay the tyrant once and for all, likely falling himself in the process.

Ludwig would be safe.

That was the scenario Gilbert played over and over in his head as he rode to that capital, and he refused to let go of it for an instant.

Until he was closer, and then horror rose up once more.

He spotted then the great plume of smoke, massive and thick, dark, rising up from the middle of the walled city.

A funeral pyre.

A terrible dread, a rush of fear, terror, and he halted his horse, falling still there in the field and staring up at that smoke. It couldn't be, it wasn't that, not that. He hadn't found the last tail feather, so it couldn't have been Ludwig. Perhaps the king had died and now Ivan rose to take his place. That had to have been it, must have been, would accept no other answer.

He gathered his courage, and tried to carry on.

He was intercepted by the goddess appearing immediately before him, startling his horse so that it reared up and knocked him off and onto his back. The horse fled, and Gilbert raised himself onto his elbows, chest locked and unable to breathe, as the goddess came forward and stared down at him.

"Go back," she said, simply. "Raise your army. Now is the time you long asked for. You know now the path—this is the very road you must take with your men. Go."

He gaped up at her, scared and immobile, and when his chest opened up and he could breathe, he asked, immediately, "What of my brother?"

She smiled, softly, not terrifyingly as she had before, and the disk of sun behind her hair cast flickering light on the ground as she took another step. She held out her hand to him then, and he took it, pulled to his feet weightlessly and without her ever really pulling at all.

"Two choices stand before you : to continue forward alone now, and miss your one chance by becoming a martyr, or to go back and gather your men, and lead the final assault on these lands. Now is the only time. Charge now, and this kingdom will fall. It will become yours, and you shall rise as the successor, as was ordained long ago. There is only one right answer. It has all led to this, these long years. Will you let it all be in vain by pushing forward?"

"You didn't answer my question," he dared, heart hammering and feeling ice-cold despite the sun.

"I need not to. I answered you many years ago."

Desperate to pretend for just a little while longer, to avoid the inevitable, Gilbert breathed, "I can't go back now. The snows will halt us. We'll be trapped in the mountains if we move now."

He had not yet learned to bow to the will of the gods, in spite of everything.

She smiled at him, ever patient with him, and the disk of sun behind her glowed quite brightly.

"Worry not," she murmured. "You'll find the weather quite mild. I do create it, after all. Go."

She vanished.

Out of ideas, with no more options, facing his greatest fear, Gilbert had little other recourse. What could he do?

He turned back.

He corralled his frightened horse, and then pressed his face into the steed's neck and momentarily collapsed into tears, broke down and sobbed away. Overwhelmed and so frightened. Not knowing truly what was happening, with only that awful plume of smoke above as a morbid hint. Knew not Ludwig's fate, how he was, if he was up in some tower looking out and waiting for Gilbert, waiting for rescue, and Gilbert now had to abandon him and turn back. Letting Ludwig remain prisoner in these lands.

He clumsily mounted his horse, still crying, and made his way back, once more following the feathers.

He turned back then, because he wouldn't let it all be for naught, and also because in some part of his heart he had hope yet. Hadn't found the last feather, he hadn't, and so even though she implied Ludwig's demise he wouldn't believe it.

He raised his army, more men than he had ever managed to raise, no doubt by the will of the gods. Others came, and Gilbert heard some of them speaking about the rumor of the Eastern Prince stealing away the Dread Knight's brother. Their anger spurred them, the feeling of being offended and violated within their own lands, and for that so many men came. The Prince had set foot into their territory and had stolen from them, and Gilbert had cause now for a truly righteous campaign. There were men coming in from lands so far away that Gilbert had never even seen them, and some farther yet that he had never heard of.

Victory seemed so imminent, and Gilbert marched.

At night, Gilbert stared up at the stars, and hoped. He closed his eyes, and when the veil of sleep was right upon him, he could feel Ludwig there beside of him, as he always had been.

He would not give up.

Ludwig had spoken for years to the goddess in sleep, and Gilbert waited desperately for night now, praying that when he slept he would be able to somehow speak to Ludwig through dreams. However he tried, he just couldn't. No voice, no visitor, no images in his head. He called to Ludwig, endlessly, and received no response.

In the morning, Gilbert opened eyes, and there was no one there on the other end. Could no longer sense Ludwig waiting for him on the edge of some bed, staring down.

There was only night.

_Oh_ —all he had ever wanted was to save Ludwig.


	4. SONG OF THE STARS

**SONG OF THE STARS**

Ludwig stared out of the window every day, eyes resting in the direction of his homeland.

No matter how hard Ivan tried, he wouldn't smile.

It had been hectic, granted, their return, and Ludwig was overwhelmed, smothered, more than likely felt stifled and frightened, in a foreign land so far from home. It didn't help matters that Irina had been endlessly upon Ludwig, suffocating him at every moment with her loud presence. She had spent so long trying to marry her brother off, and now sought to make sure that his new Prince was up to standard.

Ludwig was, after all, really just a commoner, thrust out of nowhere into a true court.

The King was displeased, but had no say, truly, as Ivan ran this kingdom and always had.

The day after they had arrived, Irina had arranged a true, legal wedding for them, perhaps to appease the King or in an effort to keep gossip from spreading. She dressed Ludwig quite regally, and pretended that Ludwig had always been a Prince, to spare herself the embarrassment of admitting that he was not. He heard her whispering at times to the curious servants, 'Why no! He is a Prince, from the West. You wouldn't know the land. It's so small.' How she lied to herself! Their humiliation was rather sound, at having to welcome the younger brother of their kingdom's terror into their midst. How odd it must have been for them; it was more akin to opening the gates for the Dread Knight himself, and surely the King felt that way, for no one outside of the royal family had been yet informed that Ludwig was Gilbert's brother.

Ivan knew that they were disappointed in his choice. He cared not. He had embarrassed them, and was hardly bothered by their discomfort.

Politics had never meant much to him outside of war. He had fought because someone wanted to fight against him. That was all that held his interest.

Ivan had wanted to be ecstatic during the wedding, truly he did, but it was so hard to be happy when Ludwig just stood there looking around as if lost in the woods. Dazed and confused. Distant. He stood still and let Irina drag him around and dress him, staggered when she shoved him towards Ivan. Was deathly silent, not all there, when Ivan looped his arm with Ludwig's and led him down that long hallway to the throne.

So distant.

Very difficult to be happy when Ivan glanced over at his Prince and found him unaware of his surroundings and staring very blankly ahead. Irina placed the crown atop Ludwig's head as Ludwig knelt, and for an awful moment Ivan thought that Ludwig was actually going to start crying. His face had contorted, his eyes had squinted, and he had seemed distraught. Ivan had held his breath, anxiously. It would have been devastating to him, truly, would have ruined the entire event.

Ludwig gathered himself in the end, and did not cry.

Oh, had anyone ever looked more miserable during a wedding and a coronation? How terrible Ivan felt, and that night, however much Ivan spoke to him and ran gentle hands over him, Ludwig wouldn't ever meet his eyes.

The shimmering bird Ivan had had entombed inside the royal shrine, because it felt respectful to do so, as the creature had been gifted by the gods. Knew not what else to do, and it had felt right. Ludwig had offered no opinion, because he wouldn't speak. He merely stood there, swaying in that daze, and let Ivan and Irina drag him about as they would.

After the wedding came Irina's relentless 'schooling', so to speak. She knew that Ludwig was a commoner, didn't know how to conduct himself in a court, and was quite ruthless in her attempts to make sure Ludwig was up to par and civilized.

Ludwig always looked a breath away from breaking down, and so on the sixth day Ivan had grabbed Irina and forced her out of the room, as she had been beating into Ludwig's head the rules of the council. She had been very offended to be tossed out, but she would eventually recover and forgive him, as she always did.

When they were alone, Ludwig slid immediately down into a chair, turned his eyes to the window, and stared out at the mountains.

Ivan knew to where and to whom he looked. To distract him, Ivan came up to him, grabbed his hand, and hauled him to his feet, and he took Ludwig on a walk around the city, murmuring endlessly to him about everything in sight, anything at all. He wanted Ludwig to wake up, to come back, to be as he had not so long ago.

Ivan eventually led Ludwig to the stables, and when they came up to Ivan's black steed, Ludwig reached out and stroked his neck. When Ludwig buried his face there shortly after, Ivan pretended that he didn't know that Ludwig was crying.

At night, Ivan forced Ludwig's face into his chest, hoping that Ludwig would come around, but he was ever still and silent, and didn't place his hand upon Ivan's cheek as he had before.

On the fourteenth day, the pain and hurt were too much, far too much, and Ivan could no longer stand that awful silence. He went to Ludwig in the evening, as Ludwig sat there ever by the window, and tried to reach him.

Ivan fell to one knee, grabbed Ludwig's hand, and murmured, mournfully, "Do you hate me so? I thought you had grown to love me."

Ludwig inhaled deeply, lifted his chin, seemed to come to, and Ivan held his breath as he waited. Ludwig turned his head to look down at him, face so sad, and yet he smiled then, at long last.

A beautiful rumble.

"And so I did. Forgive me. My mind has been elsewhere."

Elsewhere indeed; on his brother and his home, and for that Ivan had tried to be patient. Perhaps Ludwig also mourned that bird.

Clenching Ludwig's hand quite tightly, to spur him on, Ivan held his gaze and tried to be hopeful. Ludwig had spoken; that must have been a positive sign, for Ludwig had yet to utter a word before then.

"Are you well? I've been so concerned. Come, do you wish to walk about the halls? Are you hungry? Come walk with me."

For the first time in the long days they had been home, Ludwig took Ivan's hand, and was alert and aware when Ivan led him to the door. A marvelous feeling, above all else, to at last see a bit of life there upon Ludwig's face. Ludwig stared up at him, met his eyes, saw him, and was gripping his hand in return.

Ivan happily led him down the palace halls, showed him the grand tapestries here and there, showed him the throne room, as Ludwig looked about and took it in for the first time.

Ludwig stared up at the throne, and said, lowly, "Would that I could see you one day sit upon there as King."

Ivan crinkled his brow, glanced at Ludwig, and, finding the words so off, was quick to say, "You shall. Sooner or later. I fear my father is not immortal. I would like for you to be the one to place the crown atop my head. I fear Irina, however, may take some issue with that. She's very traditional. I'll have you beside me regardless, in one manner or another."

Ludwig just smiled. It didn't seem quite that happy.

It did occur to Ivan, however vaguely, that when he died Ludwig would take over the kingdom. He was considerably older than Ludwig, and when Ivan succumbed to death Ludwig would be young yet. How bizarre and perhaps irrational, to spend his life fighting off Gilbert only to willingly hand his lands over to Gilbert's younger brother.

Love was strange.

They walked on, and when Ivan led Ludwig to the library, Ludwig fell still in the center of the room to look around at the walls. This room was the only one painted with effigies, and all along the walls were the gods, in their various forms. The creation of the world entire and the cosmos.

Ludwig seemed mesmerized, and his eyes eventually settled upon the sun goddess. He stared for a very long time at her, as Ivan watched him pensively.

"Is that what she truly looks like?" Ivan asked, curiously, for Ludwig had seen her once.

The painting of her was the brightest, with gold mosaic as her hair, spread out all around her. Gold sheets as the crown behind her hair as the sun. The painting of her was beautiful, but somehow cold. Ivan had looked upon that visage his entire life and had never been truly awed by it. Men, after all, could only do so much to capture the light of divinity.

Her pale golden hair and blue eyes matched Ludwig's.

A long study, a smile, and then Ludwig whispered, "She's far more beautiful. No man could ever paint her as she is."

Ivan snorted, and led Ludwig along.

That night, Ivan didn't have to force Ludwig's head into his chest, for Ludwig voluntarily buried himself there and clung to him.

Ivan ran a hand down his back until they fell asleep.

The next day, something in Ludwig had fully woken up, it seemed. He came out of that daze, the sadness faded from his face, and he seemed so calm, so serene. Accepting and open and warm. Ivan didn't know what the cause was; he had merely come to that morning to Ludwig's hand on his cheek, a nose pressed into his own, and a lovely smile.

Happiness.

Before Ivan could say a word, Ludwig murmured, "Forgive me for wasting so much time. I deeply regret it now. I shall make the most of today."

Utterly elated, unspeakably ecstatic, Ivan shook his head, and replied, "You need not apologize. Merely a fortnight wasted. What is that, really, in a lifetime? We have many years to make up for that lost time. Don't apologize. I was harsh. I understand how drastic a change this was for you. I had not intended to make you feel that way." A burst of excitement, almost childlike for how intense it was, and Ivan was quick to add, "Should you like a tour of the city today? I have so much I wish to show you."

Now that Ludwig was responsive.

A crinkle of Ludwig's brow, a swallow, a passage of shadow, but Ludwig's smile held strong, and he finally said, "No. Some other day. I would rather spend all of today with you."

Thought that perhaps Ludwig had blinked very quickly then, but it was rapidly pushed away. Ivan could have sworn he had glimpsed heartbreak on Ludwig's face, for a just second, but let it go. It was one step at a time, after all. That Ludwig had woken up at last and was trying was more than enough. He would settle soon, and find his feet.

To appease Ludwig, Ivan did as he wished, and spent the entire day with him, passing the hours entirely in that chamber and for the most part merely lying side by side in bed. Ivan couldn't say that it was one of his more productive days, but it was certainly the most comforting. He had never felt quite as loved as he did that long day, as they whispered to each other about things they wished to one day do and see. Falling back into that sense of adoration and understanding they had formed back in the village. Feeling again as if he had a partner, and not a captive.

When night fell, when the hour had grown late, Ivan pressed forward to kiss Ludwig at last, and Ludwig was quick to respond. How marvelous that felt, after that awful despair and silence. To be enveloped once more in Ludwig's arms.

That night was somehow the most breathtaking in Ivan's memory, for it felt in that moment that he had at last everything he had ever wanted; a sense of security for his kingdom, a quelling of his nemesis, and someone next to him that loved him and understood him and to whom he could always turn to. An equal.

Lying atop Ludwig was nothing short of heavenly.

Ludwig reached up and took Ivan's face within his hands, lifting it up as Ivan caught his breath, and his eyes lit up silver in the moonlight as he stared seemingly right through Ivan.

A low, thunderous whisper.

"I am happy that I met you, even knowing the end. I feel fortunate to have met two such remarkable men in my life, and grateful that I can lay claim to both of them, as brother and spouse. Ivan—I pray we'll see each other soon."

Ivan scoffed, lifted his brow and ran his eyes over Ludwig's face. Didn't understand at all what Ludwig meant, so he pressed forward and kissed him, and rested his head atop Ludwig's heart, listening to it racing beneath him comfortingly.

A moment later, he whispered, "Soon, indeed. I'll see you in the morning, love. Sleep."

He rolled off, clung to Ludwig, and drifted away shortly after, thinking nothing of Ludwig's words. He didn't contemplate them at all, falling into slumber.

When dawn broke and Ivan stirred, he rolled over as he did every morning, to grab Ludwig's hand. He jumped back a bit that time however, because when he clenched Ludwig's hand up it was absolutely freezing. A horrendous jolt of panic that twisted his stomach, and he sat up to grab Ludwig's shoulder and gently shake him.

But Ludwig didn't wake up.

Ivan fell still in a moment of utter horror. Had never felt such horror, never, because he had never had cause to, had always been the one in control, had always been so confident and sure and strong.

But, oh—how he felt like such a lost child then, as he shook Ludwig to wake him and received no response.

Nothing.

Ludwig did not stir, there was no movement, no hint of life at all, and no matter how Ivan attempted to pull Ludwig upright, he was limp and immobile.

In shock and so _confused_ , Ivan stood up, paced around in a fright, breathing through his mouth, and tried to think of what to do. Admittedly, he was no longer entirely aware of reality in that moment, dazed and unable to comprehend what was happening.

Ludwig had been fine last night. This made no sense whatsoever.

Something was wrong. He merely couldn't understand what.

Ludwig couldn't be—

Absurdly, he ran over to the dresser and snatched up the satchel from a drawer, darting back over to Ludwig as he thrust his hand inside and clenched the feathers he had collected along the journey. He didn't know why, or what he thought it would do. Was merely so desperate. The bird and Ludwig had been connected by the gods, and for that Ivan clung to some meager sense of hope.

He yanked his hand out, reached forward, and was startled into stillness.

A flash of darkness.

When he looked down, the feathers in his hands were black as night.

Oblivion.

Ludwig slept.

Only the single tail feather retained its color, and Ivan, with no other ideas and so panicked and distraught, placed the feather atop Ludwig's chest and drew his hands up above it. Ivan stared down, having no idea what his expectations were, and when nothing happened, nothing at all, he bowed his head and burst into tears.

Oh, Ludwig's words the night before—

Had he known? Had he sensed it coming? Had his grief and heartbreak been so profound at being taken from his homeland and his brother that he had succumbed to it?

It felt to Ivan then that this was his fault.

He sat on the edge of the bed, buried his face in his hands, and cried. He remained there until late in the afternoon, when Irina came knocking. Ivan had lost his senses by then, falling into some dark ravine and unable to find his way back up. When Irina came in and shook him, he wasn't aware of her.

Whatever happened after that, Ivan couldn't truly say. Merely a blur, of which he could recall little.

As she always had when Ivan had wandered, Irina took charge.

A fine queen she would have made, and as he sat there, staring at the floor and lost to the world, Ivan had half a mind to abdicate that very second and give her the crown. Desired nothing more in that miserable moment than to set off in exile and never return. To wander about the lands as a phantom, for he very much felt like one then.

He mourned endlessly.

That day and the next passed as if it were a fleeting dream. Ivan comprehended none of it, merely following along in a stupor as Irina dragged him here and there.

He awoke only long enough to feel the heat of the flames from the funeral pyre.

Finality; Ludwig was truly dead. He hadn't really believed it until that fire, had failed to actually grasp it, but it was impossible to ignore as those flames reached the sky and the smoke blew out into the horizon.

How unfair.

His grief had knocked him senseless, unaware, and Irina led him the following day to the royal shrine, where whatever was left of Ludwig had been placed in a prettily painted urn that was set amongst the others. Long had Ivan's ancestors rested here, and never had he come here for the purpose of mourning, but oh, did he ever mourn then.

Ivan fell to his knees, pressed his forehead into the stone, and prayed to the gods to at least guide Ludwig safely to wherever he needed to be.

How cruel, for the gods to guide him there to that man and then take him away.

He blamed himself, more than anything, and missed Ludwig so furiously that his chest always ached and his stomach was constantly twisting. Irina grabbed his arm after a long while of him bowing there prostrate, and pulled him to his feet.

A glint of light startled him, forced his bleary eyes up, and Ivan was momentarily breathless to see that shimmering bird sitting there atop the royal shrine.

He inhaled, sharply, and stepped forward.

Irina's voice next to his ear, low and weary.

"What's wrong?"

He turned to her, just a quick glance, but when he looked back the bird had vanished. Nothing there at all. He looked around, desperately, but there was nothing.

Oh—was he seeing things now?

He twisted this way and that, but there was nothing at all, and Irina looped her arm within his to drag him back. She stayed ever at his side in those awful days, always holding him to her chest and running a hand over his hair, as if he truly was a child once more.

Sometimes, Ivan would lift his eyes over the fabric of her dress, and would catch another glimpse of light, or hear a faint whisper.

He began to fear he was losing his mind.

In daylight, he glimpsed Ludwig's hair at the bend of every corner in the palace, and yet when he breathlessly chased after it, feeling so hopeful, he turned the corner to empty space. At night, he would lie in bed and try to sleep, and would swear that he caught a whiff of Ludwig, nearby. When he sat up and looked around in a daze, the room was always empty. Passing a window, to have a glint of light force him still, and to look out and be so certain that he had spied a flash of colorful tail feathers trailing above.

Everything, and nothing.

Sleep was no reprieve, for now he dreamt.

Every night, the dream was same.

Enveloped on all sides by black, nothing else in sight at all. Lost and alone, unable to see anything around him. And then, from the distance, a familiar voice calling his name. He turned, and in that black there was somehow an even blacker precipice there before him, an endless void, and on the other side there were stars in the sky. Not on his end.

That voice called to him.

He crept forward, closer and closer to the void, to the voice, and when he was as close as he could possibly get to that precipice without falling in, there was a shimmer of gold on the other end and Ludwig would appear there before him. Ivan would take a step instinctively, wanting so terribly to rush to Ludwig, only to remember the great black ravine beneath his feet. He stopped short just before he plummeted, and was forced to stare at Ludwig from across the void. Tormented yet again, by seeing Ludwig right there and being unable to reach him.

Every single night, the dream repeated itself perfectly.

From within the crevasse, drops of gold floated up, surrounded them on all sides, as Ivan stared longingly at Ludwig across the way. Ludwig extended his hand, but Ivan was unable to follow. That crevasse blocked his path. The gold would spin slowly about them for a long, surreal while, and then Ludwig would take a step back. Another, and then another, hand ever outstretched, and then he would vanish, taking the stars along with him.

A glimmer from above, as the shimmering bird soared amongst the gold drops that rose and fell.

The black burst into ashes then, grey and floating down like snow, and Ivan awoke in a fright.

There was no reprieve, no rest. Endless woe. Something tormented him from beyond, something was punishing him, he knew it. No other explanation, aside from him actually sliding into insanity.

Always, something called him, in one form or another.

A month after Ludwig's passing, the King died at long last.

Ivan, lost in his misery and always looking for something that just wasn't there, barely noticed. Yet another pyre was set, yet another surge of heat, and yet another empty void.

He was King now.

It meant nothing. He had dreamt of Ludwig placing that crown atop his head, but it had been Irina the day prior whose hands had touched him.

And then something caught his eye through the fire.

Across the flames, he swore he saw Ludwig there. He did, he _knew_ it; standing there on the other side of the fire, lit up orange, pale eyes gold in the light and staring at him so intently, fixedly, not blinking. He felt that same horrifying shiver he had had upon seeing that woman long ago. An awful rush of heat, elation, joy, fear, as always, and, as always, when he stumbled through the crowd and to the other side, Ludwig wasn't there.

No one.

He was alone, and always would be.

He accepted it, and grieved openly, relentlessly, because it was just and fair to him that he felt that same grief now that Ludwig had felt when he had been whisked away from the place he loved.

When he had been crowned as King, Ivan just looked about the crowded room, and sought out Ludwig. Above all else, he wished that Ludwig had been there, to smile at him. When he sat down for the first time upon the throne, that familiar glimmer of light drew his eyes to the window.

A bird, soaring by so quickly, and then gone.

He looked to the west then, and saw a glint of light on the horizon.

He realized suddenly and out of nowhere that he was being called, summoned. Ludwig was calling to him. It couldn't have been in his head, it simply couldn't have been. Ludwig was beckoning him in one way or another, to whatever end.

Ivan woke up the morning after the pyre, from that familiar dream, and felt it in his chest, that pull. That call.

He would heed it.

Wherever Ludwig or a siren or a god led him, he would go. If it was the bird presenting itself to him in various ways, then he would obey and follow. Be it a daemon or whatever else.

If this was his punishment, he would accept it with grace and dignity.

He stood up, dressed himself regally, and made for the door. Irina snagged him on the way, eyes wide and face alarmed, and asked, "Where are you going?"

Ivan had scarcely moved at all since Ludwig had left him, and for that her alarm was hardly surprising.

He shook her off, ignored her, walked on, and made his way to the stable. How long it had been since he had seen his steed, and the beast seemed happy to see him, nudging his shoulder as Ivan opened the door. Perhaps the horse had heard the call as well, and had been waiting impatiently for Ivan to figure it all out.

He understood now, and it was time to go.

Irina was right behind him, grabbing his arm once more as she sought to halt him.

"Ivan! What are you doing? Where are you going? What's gotten into you? You cannot leave! You're King now. Where are you going?"

He was almost too tired then to shake her off, and instead trudged to the gate, horse on one side and Irina on the other as he dragged her along.

Upon reaching the gate, Ivan finally turned to her, and said, "I must go. I'm being called."

"Called?" she repeated, voice thin and frightened. "What are you talking about? Have you gone mad?"

Perhaps he had.

All the same, he would go.

"Ludwig is waiting for me, somewhere. I've seen him every day. He haunts me. I'm being summoned, by either him or the gods. I know not, I'm sorry, but I have to go."

He tried to pull away from her, but he didn't make it far before she was once more upon him.

"Don't go!" she implored, as she grabbed hold of his arm and buried her face there in his sleeve. "Please, brother! It's a daemon or a siren that calls. It's not him. He's dead. You know he is. You watched him burn. Don't go! If you do, I... I feel in my heart you won't come back."

He stared off over the vast fields, dotted with snow, and stood still.

Perhaps it was a siren, but all the same he would go, because even if he was led to his death he couldn't truly say that it was anything less than he deserved.

The blue sky was a constant reminder, over those golden fields. A perpetual reminder of Ludwig's eyes. His hair. The gods tormented him endlessly in that manner.

She was right of course. Ivan had watched Ludwig burn in that great pyre, had stood there and mourned for days on end above that scorched earth. It couldn't be Ludwig now that called to him, because those ashes had been settled.

Only the black feathers remained.

That was what called him, maybe. He should have burnt the feathers as well, but had been unable to part with them. They were all that remained of Ludwig and that bird. Even now, he carried them with him.

She clung to him, but he was far too determined, and pried her gently off.

"I'm leaving," he said, and that time there was no room for argument.

She foundered, face collapsing as she hung her head, and he regretted it, as he led the horse on.

He looked back at her, at the final moment, and said, "Should I fail to return, the throne falls to you. I taught you well. Carry on where I left off."

She shook her head, distraught.

"I can't. I don't know how. I'm afraid. The kingdom will fall. You have to come back. What if the Dread Knight comes while you're away? I don't know what to do."

He stared at her, quietly, and then turned his back and began his march.

Gilbert would come, eventually, in search of something that simply wasn't here anymore. In that, he and Gilbert were once more identical, as they both set out to find something missing. They both sought Ludwig, and it seemed that neither of them would find him.

Ivan knew not what lay in wait, but would face it all the same, as a King.

He marched out to face his fate fearlessly, because whatever it was would be better than wasting away in that awful misery and loneliness. Whether it was truly Ludwig or not didn't matter. Ivan would have lost his mind had he not followed. Never knowing would have driven him to madness.

He walked aimlessly for many days, looking around for hints and finding none, and one morning, a fortnight later, he spied a glint of light on the horizon. He set course for it, and two days later came to the foot of a great, vast forest.

It was dark, massive, seemingly endless, and although Ivan dreaded setting foot there, he did so all the same, for within the trees, far back, there was another burst of light. He truly did feel like a child then, lost in the woods, as he set inside the old trees. They loomed over him, tall and imposing, closing in all around him, and the horse was nervous.

Ivan walked for four more days within those trees before he found something.

As he sat on a rock one morning, the sun breaking through the trees in golden patches here and there, a noise off to the side caught his attention as he murmured to his horse. He looked over, and could have sworn that he saw a glimpse of blond, disappearing into the trees.

His heart pounded, lethargy was replaced with anticipation, and Ivan leapt upright and immediately charged blindly into the trees, following that glimmer.

That awful hope in his chest.

He ran, perhaps foolishly, through the trees and brush, hands outstretched to push aside branches, the fallen twigs cracking beneath his boots, pants snagging in briars and thorns. He didn't stop, pushing furiously through, led only by that reoccurring flash of light ahead of him. Could have very well been nothing at all, just sunlight catching something in the forest, but still he followed, boots wet with melted snow and puddles.

He ran until his chest was heaving, he was panting so furiously that his sides were on fire, and he skidded to a halt when he broke through the trees suddenly and into a clearing upon the bank of a river. He gasped for air as the trees swayed in the wind, breath visible in the cold air, and another flash of gold forced his gaze to the side.

He fell utterly still, breathless despite his exhaustion.

There on the bank of the river, upon a fallen log, sat Ludwig. His back was to Ivan, as he stared out over the rushing water. His clothes were far too thin for the cold, white and gold robes, he was barefoot, and yet he seemed unbothered.

Oh, _please_ —didn't want this to be a dream.

Ludwig looked over his shoulder then, pale eyes lidded and smile calm, white skin glinting in the occasional bursts of sunlight that broke in through the trees.

He was beautiful.

Ivan came out of his stupor and took a step, and then another. Moving slowly and tentatively. Carefully. Was so afraid with each step that he took that Ludwig would suddenly vanish. He came as close as he was brave enough for, as Ludwig stared at him silently, unblinkingly. When Ludwig saw that Ivan was still, he exhaled, closed his eyes, gave a rumbling laugh, and turned to look back out at the water.

Ivan watched his platinum hair shining, glinting of its own accord, and dared one more small step.

Without looking back at him, Ludwig murmured, "It's peaceful here, is it not? Away from your wars."

"Away from your brother's wars," Ivan whispered, with one more brave step.

So far, Ludwig made no move.

Ludwig's laugh then was deep, reverberating, and frightening. As if the sky above had been ripped open with thunder.

Ludwig tilted his head to one side, exposing his pale neck, as Ivan crept close enough to kneel down on one knee directly behind him.

"My brother merely made war before you could. Does it offend you so, that he wouldn't sit still and wait complacently to be conquered and enslaved?"

Was so close, so close, could feel the warmth emanating from Ludwig then, and so he had to be real, must have been real, to be warm, even though no matter how hard Ivan stared at that perfectly alabaster neck he could see no pulse.

Had to be real.

To keep Ludwig speaking, to keep him there, to delay the inevitable, Ivan uttered, quietly, "Your brother has conquered and enslaved as many lands as I. Why do you always turn a blind eye to him? We're the same. You loved him so. Will you not extend me that same love?"

"Have I not?" Ludwig asked.

How Ludwig's hair glinted. It cast light down on the ground beneath him, into the water of the river, and Ivan finally gathered the courage to raise his hand and rest it down atop Ludwig's shoulder.

For a just moment, Ivan was _so_ certain he had actually touched him, could have sworn that he had felt that warmth there beneath his palm, but it was cast aside when Ludwig and the entire world around him dissolved into ashes.

He jumped upright in a fright, looking about as grey rained from the black sky, and recognized that awful place that had haunted his dreams every night.

Oh, perhaps he really was dreaming, for this was far too familiar. He had been here so many times before. He glanced over at the sound of rushing water, and saw the river there yet intact before him, even as black lie all around and the ashes continued to drift. Not a crevasse this time, but rather this river.

On the other side of the river stood Ludwig, as he had stood every night on the opposite side of that great precipice.

Bravely, stubbornly, Ivan tried to walk forward, to cross that river, but when his foot hit the water the river froze over in ice and locked him in place. Ludwig merely smiled at him from across the way, almost condescendingly, and, for the first time in a dream, Ludwig spoke to him.

"Will you give up on me that easily?"

A furrow of Ivan's brow, a surge of determination, and he reached down to grab his calf in both hands and attempted to haul it forcibly up out of the ice.

But he couldn't. However hard he tried, he was stuck, and could not free himself.

"Follow me," Ludwig murmured, as Ivan struggled, "a bit farther yet. You took me far from home. So too shall I take you."

Ivan glanced up, and was suddenly blinded by sunlight.

When he lowered his hand from shielding his eyes, Ludwig was gone, and so was that strange world of ash and dark. The river rushed on easily around his boots, soaking wet and freezing, and Ivan plunged into the water then to defiantly cross that river, even if Ludwig no longer stood there in wait.

He fell back against a tree, sank down, buried his face, and fell into a sleep of exhaustion.

That time, no dream came.

He awoke late in the evening to his horse nudging him, having tracked him down through the forest. He reached up, patted the old steed's neck, and the horse settled down there next to him and passed the night beside of him to keep him warm as he shivered.

In the morning, snow began to fall, and Ivan trudged ever onward, guided only by that occasional glimpse of something pale moving within the trees. Another week he walked in that vast forest, before he came upon a ravine, gaping out wide and jagged in the earth. It was massive, and deep; there would be no crossing it. He looked about, meaning to go around it, and then saw movement across the void.

Someone white and glittering, flitting between the trees.

Snow fell.

He squinted to see better, and was ecstatic and yet horrified when Ludwig came out from behind a tree across the gap, coming to the edge and smiling at Ivan. A lofty wave of Ludwig's hand in a rather languid greeting, and Ivan could only stare at him. This time, pale Ludwig was dressed in black robes, and it was as ominous as those black feathers Ivan yet carried with him.

That horrible ache of longing.

All he wanted was to reach Ludwig.

The horse took several steps back, snorting and nervous, as Ivan stood there utterly slouched and defeated and pining for Ludwig across the ravine. Would have done anything the gods requested in that moment, had they only allowed him to grab Ludwig's hand.

The snow fell all around Ludwig, but didn't seem to touch him, as if it melted before it came close to him. There were no flakes on his hair or upon his pale lashes.

Suddenly, Ludwig took a step forward, and then another, his feet ever closer to that ravine, and Ivan inhaled in fright and rushed forward when Ludwig came too close to the ledge. He stopped short just before he himself plunged in, and called, "Stop!"

Ludwig didn't, and took one more step as Ivan watched in helpless horror.

But Ludwig didn't plummet. He walked onward, effortlessly across the ravine, bare feet finding some sort of solid ground beneath him even there in the air. He came closer, closer, and Ivan reached out, extended his hand, and pleaded, "Come, please—"

Ludwig fell still abruptly, right before Ivan's fingers.

Ivan looked down, as the toe of his boot barely brushed the edge of the crevasse, and he stretched his hand as far as he could, as Ludwig extended his own hand, but he simply couldn't reach. Ludwig was too far away. However hard he tried, however far he stretched, his fingers couldn't brush Ludwig's. To reach him without falling in was impossible.

Ludwig just smiled at him, calmly, prettily, those fixed eyes locked onto his own and unblinking. Something there was so _familiar_ , but Ivan couldn't place it.

Ludwig murmured, at Ivan's stillness, "Will you lose me again?"

Ivan knew then that he had been led here purposefully, and that he stood before some trap.

Death.

The great precipice lied directly before him. One more step, and he would fall into the depths. He knew it, was aware of that. Could never have said that he wasn't entirely conscious of that fact, and yet all the same Ludwig stood one pace before him yet. Standing there above the void. Ludwig hadn't fallen in—who was to say Ivan would?

Was it worth turning back, and never knowing if he could truly grab Ludwig's hand?

The siren; not Ludwig. He knew that as well as anything else, but temptation was far too high. This wasn't really Ludwig. Some daemon, but oh, he was just as beautiful, and Ivan was still mourning. Vulnerable and weak.

Ludwig saw him hesitating upon the ledge, arched up his brow and smiled, so prettily, lifting his hands up loftily at his sides. A turn of his head ever so slightly in either direction, pale eyes never leaving Ivan's, and then suddenly, with a twitch of Ludwig's fingers, the world disappeared in a burst of black ash, and there was that darkness again.

Black on all sides, above and below.

This old place...

Was this where he would end up? Was this world of black and ash where this siren was leading him to? The underworld, perhaps, awaiting him so impatiently.

Ash fell into his hair and lashes, and yet as always it never touched Ludwig there in that black void.

The precipice was gone, and so was everything else. The forest had gone. No more sky, or earth. Merely him and Ludwig, standing there alone in the pitch black, and yet Ivan somehow had enough sense in that moment to know that that precipice stood yet before him. It was only a trick, perhaps, to convince him to take that final step and plummet.

Ludwig patiently smiled at him, and then once more extended his hand.

Ivan desperately longed to take it, once more reaching out despite knowing Ludwig was too far away.

Ludwig waited.

One step...just one more step, and he would have him.

He outstretched his hand, as far as he could, edging his foot so carefully forward, and when he stopped, suddenly there were stars visible above and all around, even beneath their feet. Never had stars been visible on his side in the dream, and they drew Ivan's eyes up just enough for him to edge forward a bit more thoughtlessly.

Once more, he stopped, and the stars turned golden and began to drift down. As it had been in the dream, the drops of gold floated about, but this time Ivan could see their source. Stars, rising and falling in droplets all around, and somehow despite their beauty Ludwig was still the most breathtaking thing there.

Ludwig's hair ever glinted.

At the last moment, Ivan hesitated, and withdrew his fingers. Ludwig, so patient and still staring rather fixedly at him with a suddenly sneering smile, merely lifted his brow.

Ivan heard himself whisper, "You're not Ludwig."

Ludwig didn't flinch, didn't twitch at all, and replied, in a beautiful rumble, "I never claimed to be. I am what I am, and that happens to be merely what you most desire. In that sense, perhaps, I _am_ Ludwig, for it's what you want me to be."

That was fair.

The golden drops of stars rose and fell, and Ivan stared into the endless sky of those eyes, and steeled his will.

Ludwig, the real one, was gone. No one was waiting back home for him. Why even bother returning? To face endless war once more? And this time a war he could no longer fight off, for when Gilbert came again, Ivan would have to stand before him, present his neck, and concede, because Ivan had wronged Gilbert and had taken from him something he had loved. Why bother returning, if it would only doom the kingdom? At least Irina could justly attempt to fight off Gilbert and his holy war, however successful she may or may not have been. Ivan had essentially exiled himself, and for good reason.

Ludwig was gone.

What was the point in lingering?

That deep, thunderous, hypnotic voice murmured, over the lull, "I'm me. I'm what you want. Does it matter, if I wasn't always that way? I can be whoever you want me to be. You can take _me_ home. I can feel no grief."

Elation.

He had been led here for a reason, he was being punished, and he accepted it in that moment, when he locked eyes with that cold Ludwig.

So it was. Instead of presenting his neck to Gilbert, Ivan would cling to what little pride he had left, and present his neck to this daemon.

Knowing it would be the end of him and not caring, Ivan leapt forward and snatched Ludwig's hand. And by the gods! He grabbed it. He _had_ it—! Oh! That _feeling_ , of Ludwig's hand within his own, and for it to be that warm.

Worth it, all of it.

Time froze. Everything fell still. The drops of stars halted where they were, drifting there in the black void.

Ludwig was the only thing that moved then, to lean forward and kiss Ivan upon the forehead.

He shuddered, aware on some level that he was falling and yet it was far beneath the surface, staring as he was into those eyes.

And then the black suddenly burst entirely into white-gold, the brightest possible light, and he shielded hi eyes. The light penetrated them yet, and somehow he forced them back open, to see Ludwig no longer in those black robes. White and silver, golden trim, and Ludwig smiled at him, for one beautiful moment, before waving his hand in the air.

And gods—!

It wasn't a siren at all that had called him relentlessly.

The goddess herself stood there before him, hair flowing and the sun wreathed above her head, and her eyes were the same shade as Ludwig's.

The sky.

Not the same shade, he realized, but the very same eyes. She had Ludwig's eyes. Or did Ludwig have hers? Heavenly, in every sense. He recognized her instantly as the woman that had stood there that day in the wheat, staring at him. The one who had led him to that very first feather. Had been her, all along, leading him along like a child.

That painting upon the wall—Ludwig was right, for no one could have ever done her justice.

She spoke to him then, in the void, on the brink, and her voice was terrifying, nothing at all like Ludwig's calming rumble. Barely a hissing whisper, in a tongue he didn't speak at all and yet understood somehow.

"Do you know why I gave that child the bird?"

Unable to speak for the terrible beauty of her, he shook his head.

She spread her arms then, and smiled.

"His brother is your successor. I led the Knight home, over and over, as Ludwig laid those feathers, over and over, knowing all along what it would come to. As we speak, his brother marches to avenge him. His righteous campaign has now drawn far too many men for your kingdom to thwart. Ludwig was the catalyst for your kingdom's fall. His brother will create a new empire upon the ashes of yours. It is no fault of your own—it was to be. Nor should you carry guilt; Ludwig knew his fate all along. I showed it to him the moment I presented him the bird. I gave him the choice : to take the bird and accept that destiny, or to refuse, and condemn his brother to death at your hand. Ah! He made his decision, yes, as the Knight did, when I came down to him and offered him that infant. So you see? I am Ludwig, for he was me. He was borne of the sun, my child, and so I _am_ him. I did not deceive you. Everything is as it should be. Kingdoms come and go, such is the course of the world. Rest now. Your part is over, King. I brought you here as a mercy, that you would not live in grief. Sleep."

The blinding light began to fade, as did she.

At the last possible moment, as time began to return, he somehow found the strength to ask, "Will I see _him_ there? Will the gods grant me _that_ mercy?"

She smiled at him, and that time it was not terrible.

"It shall be."

She vanished then, and time resumed.

He plummeted to his death there in that precipice, as he had known all along that he would. Had taken that step anyway, out of desperation.

He was grateful.

The black and ash he expected didn't come.

He landed softly on his back in a field of wheat, staring up at the blue sky. The wind hadn't been knocked out of him, nor was he in any pain. Come to think, he felt nothing at all, aside from a very slight case of dizziness which was ever fading.

He gazed up at the sky for a while, coming back to his senses, and there was a movement beside of him. He turned his head to see his old steed coming forward through the wheat. The horse leaned down and bumped their noses together, and Ivan shoved him gently away with a scoff. Ah, that dumb old beast! Had followed him right into that precipice, had he not, for whatever foolish reason. Well, supposed he should have been grateful for the loyalty, if nothing else. Ivan sighed as the horse wandered off, and he continued to stare up at the sky as the wheat swayed around him.

He was quite comfortable and in no rush at all to move.

It was the first moment of peace he had felt since the last time he had held the real Ludwig's hand.

Speaking of...

A moment later, as he lied there, a face suddenly appeared above him, beautiful and familiar, and Ivan smiled as a hand reached down.

"There you are! I was waiting for you, my Prince."

That deep, comforting voice, once more warm and amicable.

Ivan reached up, took the hand, and was pulled easily to his feet.

Ludwig tilted his head, looked Ivan up and down, and said, softly, "How handsome you are! But you are King now, are you not? Of course you're regal. You'll forgive me—I so enjoy calling you Prince, for that was how I first met you."

"Call me Prince, then," Ivan offered, feeling the happiest then that he ever had, so utterly serene. Had never felt so calm. Peaceful. His hectic mind had cleared, and stress was gone. No pressure at all.

Ivan looked around at the golden fields, swaying in a breeze he couldn't feel, and he murmured, mostly to himself, "This doesn't look much like the underworld."

Ludwig snorted, and teased, "How would _you_ know?"

Ivan lifted his brow, lidded his eyes, and sent Ludwig a look of what was very likely exasperation, but conceded all the same, "I suppose you have a point."

They observed each other for a while, as warmth and safety crept over him, and Ivan could say perhaps that taking that final step had been quite worth it after all. Whatever was going on in his kingdom above on the Earth, this land below was remarkably wonderful. To be with his equal once more.

He hoped Irina would hold him no ill will, and he hoped also that she wouldn't fall in defense of the kingdom. He didn't wish for her to meet her end at Gilbert's hand. Let her live, for as long as she could. She had earned that for putting up with him. Ah, perhaps she and Gilbert would work in unison, even. Wishful thinking perhaps, but a rather pleasant notion, odd to say.

A glimmer of light drew Ivan's eyes, and he saw, far in the distance, that familiar old bird, circling about in the sky.

Ivan met Ludwig's eyes, bowed his head, and at last said, "Forgive me. For everything."

So much he had caused, although he had been led to. He had made his own decisions, and hadn't taken Ludwig into more consideration. Never had he intended for any harm to come to this man.

Ludwig's hands took his face, Ivan closed his eyes, and he pressed down to push their foreheads together. Thumbs ran across his cheeks, and Ludwig kissed him.

A murmur in his ear.

"You've nothing to apologize for. This was always out of our hands. We only played our parts, as best we could. I have no regrets."

"Nor I," Ivan affirmed, although perhaps he did hold one regret; Ludwig not being the one to put his crown atop his head. That was one thing he would rather have changed, but there was little point in pondering it when eternity stood now before him, and Ludwig was very much here with him.

The comfort of Ludwig's hands on his face.

The veil of sleep suddenly lowered. A rush of lethargy. The field dissolved beneath them into the black of oblivion. Those golden drops of starlight rose and fell around them, and there was only tranquility.

This looked more like the underworld he had expected, but there was no ash this time. Merely starlight.

Ludwig pulled back, running his eyes over Ivan's face, and then he smiled.

Beautiful.

Ivan looked around, at this familiar scenery, and Ludwig whispered, as he lowered his hands to Ivan's breast, "I prayed to the gods to grant me one last kindness; to immortalize you forever in the heavens. They answered me. You and Gilbert will make such charming constellations. It will be grand to see you stand before each other without charging into battle."

Ah—

So then, that was where they hung now, in the very heavens above the Earth, taking their designated places amongst the stars. Why those drops of light had always drifted around him in the dream. Ivan considered it a very worthy reward for the fall of his kingdom, being granted a spot in the heavens, if only for the sake of his vanity, which was clearly as immortal as his soul.

Ivan pressed his lips into Ludwig's forehead, and said, as sleep crept ever up, "How glad I am that they let me stand here immortal with you. An honor I could never hope to express, for you are a god, are you not? In your own right."

"It is I who can consider myself fortunate, to take my place between the Prince and the Knight."

"Let us hope the Knight joins us quickly to complete the tapestry."

"Indeed. I do miss him so."

Ludwig's eyes were lidded, tired, and the lull was too hard to resist.

Ludwig sighed, then, and rested his head and hand upon Ivan's chest. Ivan kissed his hair, held Ludwig in his arms, and they closed their eyes and settled in for sleep eternal. Ivan was satisfied with the path the gods had chosen for him, and together they waited for Gilbert.

The sacred bird circled them from the abyss above, casting silver glints below.

**FIN**


End file.
